Chapter Twelve – I'm On The Hunt
No matter how advanced the domes were, the artificial gravity never quite managed to mimic Earth. Having grown up on Luna, Ze'ev felt as if Earth was the one in the wrong, but he learned to adapt. Over the next few years he learned how to walk with gravity that was ever so slightly out of sync with his homeworld, ducking around and winning fights despite unsteady feet.
Sunlight burned skin that had lived underground for years, but as time went on everyone darkened, with most of them becoming able to wander the streets without turning red. Beta Tristan Wynn continued to burn easily, even after years on Earth, but he learned how to use sunscreen and how to fight while protecting the sensitive red areas.
Social skills developed slowly. There was always the instinct that any form of rudeness was a challenge, someone asking for a fight. While packmembers would occasionally ignore challenges or avoid confrontation, it felt weak to do so continually. Several times a pack member attacked someone especially insolent, but the Earthens were so untrained that the fight never needed to become brutal.
Jael always smoothed over any conflicts with police, a drop of glamour convincing them to lose the report. He seemed genuinely amused at the operatives fighting humans, although the punishment would inevitably be a stabbing dagger of bioelectricity.
Sometimes there were special missions, assignments sent from Luna that, while secretive, required less subtlety than the queen's professional spies. One such mission had the pack sitting in a hotel conference room, waiting patiently for Jael to name the target.
"Michelle Benoit."
The pack had gone to Toulouse for a few days. It was a short distance from Paris, and although technically the Barcelona pack was closer they were also busy with rumours of a Lunar refugee running the Spanish underground. Jael had yet to properly explain what the mission was, but Ze'ev could guess it would not be ending well for Madame Benoit.
"Who is she?" Ze'ev asked.
"A pilot. She is one of a very, very select few Earthens to have been invited to Luna, many years ago. While there, she befriended a man named Doctor Logan Tanner."
That name was familiar; Ze'ev saw most of the pack sit up straighter. Logan Tanner was one of the prime suspects in the case of the missing princess, which was the only mission that all fifteen packs studied. Ze'ev had a theory about why the queen was determined to find any rumour about her niece, but knew better than to ever say it aloud.
"So she's thought to have information?" he asked. In the past few years he'd grown more comfortable to be the one questioning Jael, but there was always the niggling fear that he'd overstep boundaries.
"Yes. In fact, she has a ward. A teenage girl. Madame Benoit claims that she's her granddaughter, but while we have no definite proof otherwise, there is a suspicious lack of birth records."
It took a moment for the implication to sink in. Ze'ev frowned, and then forced his face back to neutral.
He honestly believed that Princess Selene was dead. Queen Levana might have other concerns, but Ze'ev could remember the mourning ceremony in which the whole country had been obligated to participate. His whole life he'd been told that the princess had died, and it wasn't until several months after reaching Earth that he'd even learned there was a conspiracy theory otherwise. There were many innocent reasons for an Earthen to not be born in a hospital, and it would be ridiculous to suspect every teenage girl of being Selene. Still, he kept quiet.
"She lives in a nearby town, Rieux," Jael continued. "I doubt that I will require your help extracting her."
Ze'ev nodded once. A thaumaturge was able to willingly capture any hostage, although it still seemed foolish to leave the pack in Paris, in case something happened.
"I should only be a few hours before I return with Madame Benoit," Jael said, standing up. He brushed his red robes, straightening crinkles. "Try to avoid drawing attention to yourselves."
The pack instinctively rose, saluting with their arms to their chest. "Yes, Master Jael," they barked together as Jael left.
Four hours later, Ze'ev watched as Betas Vanya Volkov and Orbit Troya brawled in one of the hotel rooms they'd taken, and he wondered what point Jael considered drew attention.
His portscreen buzzed. He immediately grabbed it; he was only ever called by Jael or one of his pack in serious trouble. The caller was identified as 'Master Jael' on the screen, so Ze'ev stepped into the quiet hallway as he answered.
"Sir?"
"Alpha Kesley." Jael always sounded more ominous when Ze'ev couldn't see him. The thaumaturge's constant smile never touched his voice. "There has been a… development with Madame Benoit."
"What kind of development, sir?"
"An odd immunity to the gift."
Ze'ev couldn't have heard right. "I'm sorry, Master Jael, I don't understand."
"Neither do I, quite honestly. However, she was not only unresponsive to glamour compulsions, but threatened me with a shotgun."
The image of Jael being chased by an elderly lady wielding a shotgun gave Ze'ev a mixture of amusement and horror. "Is she a shell?" Ze'ev asked after a moment.
"I don't think so. I can sense her bioelectricity, unlike with a shell." Ze'ev didn't ask if Jael had ever met a shell. "Not to mention, she's been to Luna. Even Earthens wouldn't be so foolish – one of their odd androids would be safer had they wished to deceive us."
"I see," Ze'ev said, only about eighty percent sure that he did. "What do you want us to do?"
"I would like the pack to come to Rieux. I have all the more questions for Madame Benoit, and apparently force will be required."
"Yes, sir," Ze'ev said. He clasped a hand to his chest, although Jael couldn't see him. "We shall be there as soon as possible."
Jael's scent was easy to track once they reached Rieux. As instructed, Ze'ev sent Beta José Lobo off to rent a hover large enough to fit a protesting woman in.
The actual extraction was deemed to be simple enough that all fourteen operatives would be unneeded. Shotgun or not, an elderly Earthen grandmother would be powerless to resist. Jael selected Vanya Volkov, Orbit Troya, Eclipse Garson, Huang Liu and Ran.
Ze'ev wasn't sure whether or not to be disappointed that he was to sit out. It wasn't as if he particularly wanted to attack a helpless lady, but waiting and doing nothing didn't appeal to him.
They waited until the granddaughter left, a flash of red hair climbing into a ship. Then the group walked inside.
Ze'ev heard a scream that was immediately muffled, and Orbit's voice yelling that someone needed to get the gun. After a moment the sounds of struggle stilled, and then the faint scent of blood crept from the house.
The woman was carried out, an operative clutching every limb to hold her still.
Ran gripped her left arm, his hands slick with blood where her chip had been sliced out.
Suddenly Ze'ev was glad that he hadn't been chosen.
"Load her into the car," Jael ordered.
José Lobo hurried to open the door as Wane Becke grabbed the ropes they'd brought. A few quick knots and Michelle Benoit was tied together, unable to move.
"Don't bother to struggle. Even if you somehow broke loose you'd never outrun us," Beta Tristan Wynn informed her, smiling cruelly. Michelle only spat an insult through her gag.
Eclipse was whispering apologies; it was unclear if they were prayers or to Michelle.
"Our interrogation will be more thorough in Paris," Jael said calmly, as if there wasn't a hostage swearing at him in the back of a borrowed hover. "Alpha Kesley, stay behind and befriend the granddaughter."
Ze'ev blinked, but nodded. "Yes, Master Jael." He paused, and then decided he could reasonably ask for more information. "Do you truly believe she might be Princess Selene?"
Jael hummed. "It's possible," he said simply. "Or she may just have information. Either way, asking nicely often tends to get more accurate answers than crude methods. Forcing someone to talk merely makes them say what we want to hear, not the truth."
Ze'ev nodded – that made perfect sense, and he'd long learnt to switch off the detest at the idea – and clapped his fist to his chest.
"Make yourself an alibi," Jael added as he climbed into the hover.
José managed to make the vehicle rise with an ear-wrenching shriek, which quickly shut off as someone hit the autopilot. Then the operatives left, leaving Ze'ev alone.
Operatives always had a surplus of currents. Ze'ev had no idea how the accounts were filled, but he liked to think that no-one was hurt – someone who insulted the queen woke up to find their money had trickled away. Ideally there'd still be enough for them to live on, but that assumed that any hacker employed by Luna had a conscience.
However he had the money, Ze'ev had enough to check into the one inn that Rieux offered. The room was small but clean, and no-one questioned the fact he didn't have any baggage; he thought his smile was unsettling even if they didn't consciously notice the teeth.
Once he had a room, Ze'ev headed out into the tiny town to explore. Over the course of several days, he had seen every store, looked around the houses, headed out to have a look at the farms, and realised that it was almost boring to be alone in such a small town.
An isolated farm with a flag to warn about plague drew his attention occasionally. There were sounds of fighting, and the wind always carried the taste of blood. It felt so familiar several times Ze'ev snuck inside, just to feel like he was back with his pack. The fights were literal shows, in an arena with a delighted audience, but there was a similar atmosphere.
He saw Scarlet Benoit several times, watching the girl carrying heavy crates of vegetables like they were nothing. She was somewhat pretty, her jaw always set determinedly and her eyes gleaming like she was about to take a challenge. Ze'ev wondered what she would look like if she smiled, but her all her expressions were variations on surly, angry, or anxious; it took a while before it occurred to him she was probably upset about her grandmother.
Ze'ev tried to keep up-to-date on the investigation, but there was very little public information about it. A local station ran an article on Michelle Benoit's disappearance, an unflattering description that coincided with Scarlet being in a towering rage, but most news stories were still focused on a Lunar cyborg in the Eastern Commonwealth.
After several days in Rieux, Ze'ev realised that his alibi would have to be more concrete than being seen around town. When he finally talked to Scarlet, she was unlikely to interrogate everyone in the city about how often they saw him.
The Rieux Tavern was a good start; it was accessible and Scarlet delivered there. Ze'ev started to have dinner there every night. Some of the other patrons shrunk back from him, which made him feel a little powerful and a lot hollow; he responded by hiding his teeth and shrinking down into himself while in view. He was probably the most competent fighter to dine there, but as louder and more decorated streetfighters also came by sporadically, the average watcher couldn't notice his inherent danger.
On Ze'ev's first meal at the Tavern – the steak was about as good as headquarters had, but he didn't trust the plant-based side-dishes – Jael sent him an email. Ze'ev read it as he ate, unsurprised to learnt that Scarlet Benoit was confirmed to not be the princess. The pack had found firm evidence that she had parents (they were currently tracking down her father as leverage against the grandmother), and the newest theory was that Scarlet hadn't been born in a hospital to hide the fact her grandfather was Logan Tanner.
His mission hadn't changed, though. Befriend Mademoiselle Benoit, find out if she knew anything about the princess or her grandmother's glamour resistance, and then turn her in for further questioning.
With practised ease, Ze'ev pressed down the twinge of guilt he had as he thought about what would happen to the red-haired girl he'd seen around town, and instead focused on the spiky-haired cyborg who'd just walked into the tavern, boasting about his expected victory to his companion.
His expected street-fighting victory.
It would certainly be an alibi.
"Ze'ev Kesley," the balding man behind the table read off the form.
"Yes," Ze'ev said curtly, nodding.
The man looked him up and down, seeming to approve of the scars that networked his skin. "Ever been in a streetfight before?"
"No."
"Know how to handle yourself in a fight?"
"Yes."
"Good enough for me. Your first fight'll be tonight."
Ze'ev smiled. The man looked intrigued. "Those fangs implants or sharpened?"
"Uh," Ze'ev hesitated, his smile gone, "Implants."
"Not bad. Any animal in particular, or just reckon they look good?"
"Wolf?" he said it as a question. "Arctic wolf. Canis lupis."
"Wolf, huh? Probably a better name than Ze'ev."
"What's wrong with my name?" Ze'ev asked, a growl underlying his words without conscious thought. He had been pretty sure his name was specific to Luna, but a flurry of doubt rubbed his heart.
"Nothing's wrong with it on the streets," the man said with a bored wave. "But streetfights need some… pizazz."
Ze'ev had no idea what pizazz was, but then again at least three quarters of the fighters had ridiculous codenames on the screen. Deathstalker, Vale, Ursa, Grimm, Remnant, Goliath, Nevermore, Atlas, Hunter.
"Okay. So call me Wolf, then," Ze'ev said, nodding once. It wasn't the most original of names, but he doubted he'd be using it for more than a fortnight.
"Great," the man said, making a note on his form. "Fights start at six, you'll probably be first up."
Ze'ev smiled without humour, not bothering to hide his implants. "Can't wait."
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