Shadows

by Terry Schott

  "Stop!" she stage-whispered. Kyle froze. "Behind the restaurant, ten minutes," she hissed.

  Kyle nodded and returned to his table. Ten minutes later he finished his meal, paid his bill, and left the restaurant to make his way to the back alley.

  "Over here," Dawn called softly from beside a dumpster.

  Kyle approached her and looked around quickly before joining her in the shadows. "What are you doing?" he asked. "Why all the cloak-and-dagger stuff?"

  "You kidding me?" Dawn asked. "You do still play SHEPHERDS, don't you?"

  "Yeah," Kyle replied. "It's been down for a bit, though. No targets or shearing taking place. It's going to cost us all some serious bucks in the short term, but once we take the targets back we'll more than make up for the loss."

  "Who's telling you that?"

  "You know my leader is Tank. He heard it from his boss and passed it down the line to us."

  Dawn nodded. Each team operated in small cells. Only the leader had contact with the next group leader higher up the chain. It worked that way up to the upper echelon; everyone knew the leaders at that level, of whom Dawn was one. "Anyone talking about me?"

  "Um, yeah. Everyone is more like it," Kyle said. "Your dad is in town, and he is apparently not in a good mood."

  "That all you got?"

  Kyle smiled and shook his head. The game structure attempted to keep them in small isolated groups, but Kyle heard more than the average player. There were others like Kyle in each territory, and the leaders allowed it; one never knew when a guy with Kyle's people skills and contacts might come in handy. "There's another group making a very serious play for our entire game territory."

  "Any idea who they are?"

  "Some big rich Family from the other side of the country," Kyle said. "Apparently they own a large piece of the game board on the west coast. I'm hearing that they're no longer content with what they have. They want it all."

  "It's just a game," Dawn mumbled, even though she knew it was more than that. There are millions of dollars tied to playing this game. Why have I never bothered to wonder more about that fact? In adult business, adding money to any equation makes the outcome more serious. I've been blinding myself.

  "A few kids have been killed."

  "What? Killed because of the game?"

  "No one is saying that," Kyle looked over his shoulder and lowered his voice. "I hear things from a lot of people, though, Dawn, you know that."

  Dawn nodded.

  "It looks pretty obvious that the kids dying out there are not just accidents. I think someone is trying to control the players, and if they don't turn on your Family, they end up dead."

  "Where's my dad at?"

  "He's nowhere and everywhere, like a ghost. I was beginning to think reports of him being here was just a rumour. He's not doing his normal routine where he comes to a hotel and sets up camp. He's popping up all over town and then disappearing just as quickly."

  "What about this other family? Have they sent big players here?"

  "I don't know," Kyle shook his head and took out his phone. He turned it on and loaded SHEPHERDS, passing it to Dawn. She had left her ansible in Logan's car; it was useless to her for now and she was certain the brothers had put a tracer on it. Looking at Kyle's phone, she saw the game map for the first time since her escape.

  The entire city map was coloured in red, each icon indicating that it was held by very high-level opponent. Or opponents, it was impossible to know from the map.

  "The targets are all held tight. None of them become available, or even provide sufficient data, and I haven't met anyone who can hack them," Kyle said. "That means there must be some pretty powerful players here, but none of us have been able to spot any."

  That made sense to Dawn. The only reliable way to identify a Shepherd was to witness someone suspicious in the area while a target was being stolen. Since no targets were changing hands, it would be difficult to know if any given person were playing the game, or simply using his or her phone.

  "The game's not down anymore, but it's controlled by others," she said. "I have to get to my dad."

  "I don't know how to help you do that," Kyle admitted. "There doesn't seem to be a way to know where he's going to be next. Why don't you just go meet up with someone safe and wait 'til he shows up?"

  "Because I've seen some of the enemy players, and they're looking for me too."

  They both thought for a few moments. Finally, Kyle snapped his fingers and smiled. "You tell me where you're hiding out, and I'll tell Tank that I know where you are. Then, when your dad hears, he will come looking for me. I'll tell him where you are and he can come get you."

  "I don't know..."

  "If you have a better plan, I'm all ears," Kyle said.

  Dawn thought about it for another minute and finally shook her head. "Okay," she said, "I'll tell you where I'm staying, but I don't want you to write it down. Memorize it?"

  "Of course," Kyle nodded.

  21

  Logan had spent his youth doing more than playing video games.

  By the time his seventeenth birthday arrived, he had mastered many forms of armed and hand-to-hand combat. He had spent weeks learning, by experience, how to survive the harshest environments. Of course, he came from a Family of culture and stature, which had trained him extensively in art, literature, and leadership, as well.

  Logan liked to think of himself as a cultured wolf, willing and capable of ripping out someone's throat, but also comfortable attending a night at the opera with a beautiful woman on his arm. His comprehensive résumé was standard for his class, typical of his Family, where his age made him one of the least genteel. "Your progress is adequate," his father would say. "Keep at it, and in a few more decades, you may be able to travel the world without embarrassing your ancestors."

  Tonight, the combat training did him more good than the cultural appreciation. His eyes opened as some unconscious part of him awakened to danger. He moved only his eyelids, which was fortunate. Had he done much more, the razor-thin edge of the blade resting against his throat would have ended his life in a burst of blood.

  "Yes," a rough voice whispered softly from above him. "I was certain they'd trained you well enough to remain still upon waking to danger."

  Logan's arms and legs were not pinned, but his assailant's weight rested solidly on his chest, limiting his air intake and movement. If his attacker had wanted him dead, it would have already occurred. Thus, the man with the knife was a professional, and deadly.

  "I'm gonna stand up now," the voice said. "If you so much as blink loudly, I'll stick this blade in your eye so fast that you'll flop around for seconds before your body realizes it's dead. Whisper yes if you understand."

  "Yes," Logan whispered. He'd been woken like this in training, but this could be no drill, not while deep in enemy territory and making a serious move against a formidable foe. This was a countermove, and Logan was certain whose. "Harry Thorn?" he whispered.

  The knife came away from his neck and the weight on his chest lifted. A soft thud sounded beside his bed, too soft for an untrained person to hear, and a man's silhouette appeared beside him."Tell me where my daughter is."

  "Can I sit up?" Logan asked.

  "Slowly."

  Logan sat up and observed the man standing an arm's length away: Harry Thorn, a very dangerous and cunning adversary, and a prominent leader in his Family for over thirty years."It's an honour to meet you," Logan said. "I'm sorry it's under such troubling circumstances."

  Harry's stare was flat and cold. "Where's my daughter?"

  "We were told that your kids have received no special training," Logan said. "That was a lie."

  "Obviously," Harry sneered. While he didn't subscribe to the brutal Spartan-style training the rest of his Family favoured, Harry had still made certain that his kids could defend themselves, armed or unarmed. If the Hearthkin boy was being honest, which it sounded like he was... "Does that mean she escaped you?"


  Logan's face flushed with embarrassment. "We underestimated her," he admitted with a nod. "If she hadn't, we would have had her back to you already. This operation was never meant to cause bloodshed."

  "Yet I hear blood has been shed in my city, anyway," Harry said.

  "Not that I know of," Logan said.

  Harry's grin looked more like a warning snarl. "Someone has really messed this up. I don't know if it was you and your brother deciding you wanted to make a name for yourselves by trying to take my area, or if it's a sanctioned attack with some bad luck on your part. I'm fairly certain that it's not one of ours trying to gain territory and pinning the blame on your Family." Harry spun the knife lazily in his hand, silver light flashing as it twirled first slow and then fast. "I like things the way they are." He locked eyes with Logan once more. "And I'm willing to forgive and forget all of this, if you return my daughter and retreat back to your little hole on the west coast."

  Logan said nothing.

  Harry shrugged. "Or not. If you want to keep playing this game, then I'll play. You're too young to remember a war. There has been peace between our two Families for a long time."

  "Over sixteen years," Logan said. "I know the history."

  "Do you?" Harry asked. "I would have thought they kept that a secret from the young ones."

  "There are no baby girls named Desdemona anymore," Logan said, "but we all learn about her. It's important to learn from past mistakes. There is a good lesson in her story, to know what happens when a Hearthkin abandons her Family to love a Thorn."

  Harry's smile faltered. He blinked slowly and then allowed it to return. "My daughter. Reunited with me. Immediately."

  "We don't have her."

  Harry walked to the window and opened it. "Then leave town and she'll feel safe enough to stop hiding," he said.

  Logan started to speak, but Harry leapt out the window, gracefully grabbing a rope and sliding to the ground below.

  22

  "When are we leaving?"

  Vector looked up from his phone and gazed blankly at his little brother. "I don't understand your question."

  Logan swept his hand broadly to indicate the city. "City Three," he said. When do you plan to leave?"

  Vector looked out the nearby window, squinting slightly as the sun caught his eyes. Then he grinned and looked back at his younger brother. "I don't plan to leave."

  "That's crazy."

  "Why?"

  "We can't hold this territory."

  "That's what everyone would like to believe, yes."

  "It's Thorn territory."

  "That's strange," Vector tapped his phone. "When I look at the game map it appears to be controlled by Hearthkins. Are you seeing a different screen than I am?"

  "You're playing with me," Logan snorted. "Long before this was called City Three, hundreds of years before SHEPHERDS was invented, this place already belonged to the Thorns. The entire infrastructure: politicians, business owners, families who built this place and keep it going—everyone here is loyal to Thorn leadership."

  "How many people living here are even aware of that?" Vector asked.

  "The people that matter. The ones who run the city."

  "Perhaps it's time for a change of leadership," Vector said. "There are many who would enjoy being promoted to positions of power, and we can assist in that area."

  "Oh, wow," Logan said. "You're serious, aren't you?"

  Vector stared at his brother and then he shook his head. "No, I'm not. You're right, we don't have the support to try and hold this place. I did raise the idea with the Elder Council before we came, though."

  "They shot it down." And I'm not surprised. They're responsible for the welfare and prosperity of the entire Hearthkin Family. There would be too much risk.

  "They did give us permission to shake things up, and that's why we're going to make it look like we intend to stay for as long as we can comfortably maintain the charade."

  "There are always weak links in a chain," Logan quoted some famous, dead ancestor.

  "Exactly," Vector agreed. "I have already turned two influential people."

  "Anyone I know?"

  "I doubt it," Vector told him the names, and Logan shook his head. "The good news is that once we do leave, and city control is returned to the Thorns, there will be large sections that we can shear occasionally. That should keep them confused about our presence in the city, and also bring us a nice little profit from this territory over time."

  "You gave them secondary phones?"

  "With high-level accounts tied to our master account, yes," Vector said. "I think we can hold on here for at least a few more days, and I intend to recruit even more willing profit-seekers before we have to leave."

  "We don't have more days," Logan said. "Harry Thorn is seething, and he's not going to be patient for much longer."

  "You really dropped the ball on that one, Bro," Vector shook his head. "I thought the girl was an easier target."

  "It did seem too good to be true."

  "A shame she didn't take her ansible with her. We could have tracked her down easily."

  "Yeah. The good news about her leaving it behind is that I was able to remove all the spyware I'd installed onto it. Imagine if they had returned it to Game Central and our tampering had shown up. That would have caused a whole new set of problems for us."

  "Game Central is a joke," Vector said. "Most of the idiots working there actually believe SHEPHERDS is truly just a game."

  "There are some who know the truth," Logan warned.

  "I know, but they belong to us."

  "Or the Thorns."

  "The balance of power between both of our families is maddening," Vector admitted. "If we could tip the scales in our favour and wipe them out...that would put us in the history books forever."

  "Yes, problem is that there are thousands of Thorns who feel the same way about tipping the scales against us, brother."

  "Games within games," Vector sighed.

  "You never answered my question about Dawn. What are we going to do about finding her?"

  "Nothing," Vector said. "We would have let her go by now, anyway. The element of surprise is gone. We'll leave soon, and then Dawn will feel safe enough to surface. Our plan was never to start a war, just to see how the defences were."

  "As solid as ours are, I would say," Logan said.

  "Yes," Vector agreed.

  ***

  "Josh," Sam yelled down from his room, "come take a look at this."

  Josh turned off the television and climbed the stairs. He entered Sam's room and saw that both large monitors were filled with lines of a new computer code. Sam stood up to give Josh the chair.

  After a few seconds, Josh frowned and looked at Sam, who grinned and nodded. Josh then continued reviewing the lines of code, moving his lips as he read along. His head turned to the second monitor and he began to nod, stopping occasionally to point at a specific line and study it before moving on. When he was finished, he sat back in his seat and exhaled loudly.

  "See any flaws?" Sam asked.

  "No," Josh said. "Let me read it once more to make sure?"

  "Of course," Sam pulled up the second chair and sat down.

  When Josh had read the entire sequence a second time, he nodded quietly and looked at Sam. "This is art."

  "You think so?" Sam tried not to smile, but failed.

  "Absolutely," Josh said as he pulled out his ansible and dialled a number.

  "Harry, it's Josh. Can you get close to one of the Hearthkins? Within seventy-five metres should be fine."

  Sam imagined his father saying something to the effect that seventy-five metres wasn't what he would consider close. "I know," Josh said, "but it's close enough for what I want you to do."

  Josh stood up and motioned for Sam to sit down again. "Sam just created a new program. He's going to send it to you in a few minutes. When you get close enough to a Hearthkin, I want you to open the program and use it to shear them. Yes, a
personal target shear. Text us just before you execute the shear, okay?"

  Sam could hear his father ask why. Josh grinned and slapped Sam on the back. "Because we want to watch the fun from here when you do it," he said.

  23

  "Hey, girl, wake up now. We don't need to attract any attention with you calling out and shouting in your sleep."

  Dawn opened her eyes and sat up, slowly remembering where she was as she scanned the surroundings. The alley was dark and damp despite the layers of dry cardboard separating her from the concrete. Despite the presence of large trash barrels at either end of the narrow space, there was only a faint garbage smell. She looked to her left and saw an old woman sitting nearby, wrapped in multiple layers of thin shirts and dresses.

  "I'm sorry," Dawn said. "I didn't mean to fall asleep."

  The old woman shook her head, beads from a gaudy yellow hat making a tinkling sound from the gesture. "That's okay, sweetling, we all get tired from time to time. I'm happy to watch over you while you grab a bit of rest." The woman moved closer to Dawn and looked at her with concern. "Shouldn't you be home with your parents right now? This fine alley doesn't seem like the type of place for a young lady such as yourself."

  Dawn said nothing, but pulled the hair out of her face and did her best to tuck it behind her ears.

  "Mhmm. Well, maybe you'd like to tell me who this Logan fella is, then? You started thrashing around in your sleep and calling his name out like you were being chased by the devil himself."

  Dawn blushed and shook her head. She remembered the dream very well, but she wasn't about to talk about it.

  "Alright, then, don't say nothing," the old woman leaned against the wall and pushed back the wide brim of her hat. "I made sure no one bothered you while you slept," she winked and smiled. "Nobody came close enough to take any of your stuff."

  "Thanks," Dawn said. She stood up and stretched. "How long did I sleep?"

  "Couple hours," the woman said.

  "Okay, that's good," she said. "I need to watch the building across the street for the next little bit. Is it okay if I hide in the alley to do that?"