"So we find her," Jordan argued. "We grab her, and we get the hell out of here."
"Really? You want to bust a kid out of the most protected inner circle of the colony. You want to get in, grab her and get out, all without encountering any of the hundreds of shifters who are sworn to protect her to their dying breath, all of whom will sound the alarm if she isn't where she's supposed to be, and none of whom will have any issue tearing you to shreds to save their princess?"
"Save her from what? Her own father?"
"Your biological connection to her is less important to them than her biological connection to the community. She is their princess, not yours."
"Bullshit!"
"Jordan. Put your hackles down and think about this logically for a second. In your world, she's your princess, yours alone. No one else will notice or care if she disappears, but it would destroy you. That dynamic has changed. You're in a world filled with people who would throw themselves on their metaphorical swords to save her the trouble. Everyone in this colony is utterly devoted to her, apart from a traitor or two. Traitors, by the way, will also be rooted out and handled during this process. You do not have sole ownership of your daughter anymore. She belongs to her people."
Jordan paced. He didn't like it, finding his love for his daughter being characterized as ownership. He didn't like the idea of so many people being invested in her, regardless of how benevolent their investment was. But what wounded him most was the idea that he would have to prove himself worthy of being her father to a bunch of strangers.
"What kinds of tasks are these, anyway?" he asked, angrily. "Rock a baby to sleep in ten minutes or less? Disabling a shifter child in full meltdown? Calculating screen time versus play time? What exactly do I have to prove to these people?"
Jeffery cracked a smile, but sobered quickly.
"I wish it was that easy," he said. "But they aren't going to be looking at your ability to nurture as much as your ability to protect and lead."
Jordan ground his teeth. There was a reason he'd kept her in a basement apartment. There was a reason he'd run the second he had the chance. Protecting her from the world and everything in it, including herself, had been a daunting task. A task that he'd failed more often than he was willing to admit.
"I need specifics," he said, pacing more quickly as his mind began to chew on the problem.
"There will be three games," Jeffery said. "The first one is simple. Beat the chess master."
"I haven't played chess in years," Jordan said, irritably.
"We'll practice. I'm pretty good."
"What does chess have to do with leading or protecting?" Jordan asked.
"Only everything," Jeffery said, his mouth quirking in amusement. "You won't be playing with pieces. You'll be playing with people."
"So?"
"So you don't only have to think about how the pieces move on the board, but whether or not your piece... your soldier... is physically capable of disabling whoever is in their way. Werewolves are only captured when they're incapacitated. The game is played the same way."
"So if I make the appropriate move, but my piece loses the skirmish..."
"Your piece is captured instead."
Jordan blew out a heavy breath and pushed a hand through his hair.
"Will I have a chance to train my team before the game?"
Jeffery looked at him with surprise.
"You'll have a team of Delta Reserves," he said. "They've been trained."
"Right, but what is their training like? Is it comparable to a martial arts, World War Two hand-to-hand combat combination?"
Jeffery frowned, thoughtfully.
"It's an interesting idea," he admitted. "But there's a problem, unless you're incredibly lucky. I set the date of the game with Steel tomorrow. I could push it out a few days to give us time to prepare, but the problem is..."
"Set it up."
"First thing in the morning, I'll..."
"Now."
"Jordan, it's the middle of the night, I can't just..."
"Can't? Or won't?"
"Take a breath. That Alpha bug is getting to you."
Jordan almost argued, but the image that flashed in his head of him tearing Jeffery apart for daring to defy him stopped him short. Jeffery was right. This wasn't like him. He was a reasonable, balanced, understanding man. At least he liked to think so. But the stress of being away from Darla, of not knowing whether she was sleeping soundly or bawling her eyes out, not knowing who was caring for her (if anyone was) stressed him to his breaking point. He needed to be with his daughter. He paced the room, wishing he had a task, any task, that he could finish, barely noticing Jeffery open the chest at the end of his bed and pull a long, thin box from within.
"Sit down," Jeffery said. "Play."
Jordan's hackles raised at the command, but he forced himself to comply. He sat on the floor as Jeffery did the same and watched as he set up the chess board. It was an intricately carved piece of art, with half-form shifters standing in place of the specialized pieces, and wolf-form shifters standing in for the pawns.
"Is that how the real game is played?" he asked, gesturing to the pieces.
"Yeah. If the pawns shift out of wolf form, the game is forfeit. Likewise, if the others shift out of half-form, the game is forfeit. Only the king maintains a human form, and only the queen gets weapons in addition to her natural defenses."
Jordan nodded, understanding. The king must be protected at all costs, and the queen was the baddest beast on the board. So far it seemed to be a standard parallel of the human version. Jeffery pulled two additional pieces from the box and set them on the board. These pieces had three heads: wolf, human and half-form. One arm was human, the other was beast. Jordan shot Jeffery a questioning look.
"At the beginning of the game," Jeffery explained, "the commanders fight for the right to move first. The first shifter to pin the other wins. A win is called after three seconds. They have three heads because the contestants can choose their form, and shift mid-fight if they feel the need." Jeffery pulled a twenty-sided die out of the box as he spoke. "Obviously our figurines don't fight. We use a die instead. Highest number wins the skirmish." He rolled an eleven, then passed the die to Jordan, who rolled an eight.
He was happy to go second. He would rather watch and learn than take the lead right out of the gate, at least for now. Jeffery moved a wolf, and the game was on. Jordan was rusty, but he held his own pretty well for a while. Jeffery bested him without much effort, then they played again. Jordan was frustrated with the skirmishes; the die seemed to be weighted against him, and he kept losing his pieces. He changed tactics on the third game, avoiding confrontation as much as possible, focusing on surrounding the naked, human king. He almost couldn't believe it when he won.
"Good!" Jeffery said. "Even on the field, there is always a chance that your opponent's team is stronger, faster, or luckier. What I was trying to mention before is that your team is assigned at random on the date of the game. If you train the Deltas, you'll train them all. It won't give you the edge that you're looking for."
Jordan ran a hand over his face.
"Then it just comes down to me," he said, thoughtfully. "I should have listened, Jeffery. Sorry about that."
"No worries," Jeffery said, waving a hand. "You're under a lot of stress."
Jordan shook his head. "Don't ever make excuses for me, Jeffery. If I'm going to survive what's happening to my brain without going full Montague, I need you to be my guide."
Jeffery looked startled, then nodded. "Fair enough," he said. "Roll for the first move."
They played through the night, and by the time Jordan collapsed with exhaustion, he'd managed to win nearly half of the games. It wasn't good enough, he knew. If he was going to get his daughter back, he needed to win. There were no second chances this time.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
Jordan awoke to a knock on the door, and shot bolt upright. Jeffery groaned and tumbled out of
bed, trudging like a zombie toward the door. Jordan reached it first and pulled it open. It was one of Steel's personal guard.
"Jordan Hacker?"
"Yes?"
"Come with me."
Jordan shot a look at Jeffery over his shoulder, but Jeffery only shrugged and frowned. Panicking that something was wrong with Darla, Jordan hurried a few steps ahead of the guard. He was led to an elevator, and the guard pushed a button labeled "R".
"What's going on?" Jordan asked.
"Alpha Prime has requested your immediate presence," the guard said.
"Why?"
"I suggest you ask him when we get there."
Jordan took the hint and kept quiet. He felt the earth grow heavy above him, and had to resist the irrational urge to duck. The ceilings were high enough, and the support beams appeared to be strong, but he had never liked being underground. It seemed unnatural, like daring the earth herself to swallow him whole. The guard led him down a long hallway to a pair of gilded double doors, and pushed through. He gestured for Jordan to go inside, then stepped out and shut the door behind him. Jordan was facing Steel, who was seated at the head of a long oval table, and half a dozen other people. Half of them wore robes of bright tangerine; the other half wore a deep, sparkling turquoise. Nerves caused Jordan to stand a little taller and straighten his shoulders to compensate, and he strode across the room.
"You wanted to see me?"
"Sit," Steel said, gesturing at the last seat at the table. Jordan sat. "We seem to have a PR problem," Steel said. "Of your doing." He clicked a remote control, and the wall panel behind him lit up with a security camera video of Darla shifting and tearing into his shoulder. He cringed watching it. It hadn't felt so dramatic when it happened, but watching it play out was almost as painful as living it. That video rolled into a cell phone recording of the same moment. In this one, the man in the fedora showed his face. A third and fourth video rolled, all from different angles. Then a slideshow began of comments on YouTube and social media. Darla had become a viral meme virtually overnight. Steel turned the screen off, and turned back toward Jordan.
"How do you suggest we deal with this?" Steel asked.
"Has anything like this ever happened before?"
Steel shook his head. "A few sketchy videos surfaced back in the seventies. A photo or two. Nothing that couldn't easily be debunked. As technology has improved, our species has become adept at blending in with society at large. We have never faced this kind of exposure before."
"Maybe it's time then," Jordan said, leaning back slightly. "I would suggest contacting human authorities and opening up lines of communication. Explain that their ranks have been infiltrated by enemy werewolves, and that this problem goes beyond a species conflict. Then I would hold a press release. Introduce ourselves to humans at large."
Gasps rang around the table, and one of the women actually screamed. Steel barely reacted, and Jordan kept his face neutral.
"What you're talking about equates to genocide for our people," Steel told him. "Humans are an unpredictable and violent breed. They are tribal, small-minded creatures, dead set against anything different. If they can't get beyond variances in their own species, how do you think they would react to a whole new species?"
"The world is changing, Steel. Has been for a long time. The advent of the internet, in addition to creating a vulnerability for your people, has inspired a new phase in human evolution. Yes, there are still those who would want to eliminate us for daring to exist in the world, but there are a great many more who would fight for your right to do so. Besides, you have an ace in the hole. Montague has already shown you how to win."
"Oh? That fool?"
"Yes," Jordan said, leaning forward. "His plan to take California and sweep North America, turning every human in his path. The people who would oppose your existence are already terrified of California infecting the rest of the country with progressive ideas. You wouldn't have to do it. Hell, you wouldn't even have to threaten to do it. You would just have to put it in their minds that it is possible to utterly change the very biology of their reality. The dumbest among them would still cry for your heads. Everyone else... everyone intelligent enough to be in a position of power... would be ready to work with you."
Steel leaned back and considered Jordan thoughtfully.
"Better yet," Jordan said. "Make an enemy out of Montague's faction. Tell the world his plan, and tell them that we can fix it... with their help. Use Darla as a poster child. Convince them that their children were simply lucky that they weren't turned. Insinuate that she was. Show them what could be, and tell them how you will protect them... and what it will cost."
"Could kill two birds with one stone that way," Steel said thoughtfully, scratching his canine jaw. "Set the humans on the hunt for Montague and his men."
"Yes," Jordan said, getting excited now. "And it would open up worlds of opportunity for shifters as a whole. Once the initial panic dies down, curiosity will set in. You'll have more humans learning shifter medicine; more humans willing to assist misplaced shifters. There would be no need to hide people like Keanu Reeves or anyone else who wants to pursue a public career. It would take time. A couple of human generations, maybe. Certainly we can wait that long."
Steel nodded slowly. "You make good sense, for a newly-turned shifter. My son chose his mate well. Julie?"
"Sir?" replied the woman in teal, who had screamed.
"Meet with Bates. Inform him of our intention; work with him on a practical time table, ways and means and all that; get me a plan I can sink my teeth into."
"Yes, sir."
"Carly."
"Yes, sir?" A woman in a tangerine robe replied.
"Statistical analysis. Use the internet. Give me an estimated timetable for human acceptance of shifters in public."
"Yes, sir."
"This is going to take work," Steel told Jordan. "A lot of work, on both sides. Werewolves and humans are alike in one primary way: neither species is overly fond of change. Our people will not accept this exposure quietly."
"Understood," Jordan said.
"I'm not entirely sure it is," Steel said. "But I'm willing to take that bet. One other thing. Your..." He was interrupted by a knock at the door and gestured to one of the teal-clad shifters to answer it. A guard marched in, red-faced and slightly out of breath.
"Sorry to interrupt, sir," he said. "There's a woman in the lobby who claims to have escaped from Montague's harem. She's demanding to speak to someone named Jeffery, and refuses to say a word to anyone else."
"Most interesting," Steel said. "Leave us," he told his colorful council. "Those reports are of the highest priority."
"Yes, sir," they said in unison, and departed.
"Have Jeffery Moranis bring her down to me," he said. "He should be in his barracks. Don't allow her to speak a word until she is in this chamber. I want to hear what she has to say."
"Yes, sir." The guard marched out and closed the door.
"Should I go?" Jordan asked.
"Stay," Steel said. "I would be interested to know your opinions on this matter, once we have something to form an opinion about."
Jordan nodded politely and settled back in his chair. For all the help he was giving Steel, he thought, he should ask for something in return.
"I want to see my daughter," he said, abruptly.
"I expect you do."
"How do I know that your people are taking care of her properly?"
Steel smiled a fatherly sort of smile.
"She takes Wolfie everywhere she goes. She's allergic to strawberries. She has to have her bananas peeled just so, and she isn't as fond of red meat as she is of peanut butter. Her favorite stories have princesses who don't need to be rescued, and she can tell a good story herself if she has half a mind to. She's terribly moody when she's hungry, and wildly energetic for an hour after meals. She is not to be messed with during that time, but is sweet and mostly gentle otherwise. Her favorite story to te
ll is the one about the lonely prince who met his princess at a desert festival, and they lived happily ever after."
Jordan had to fight against a lump forming in his throat. He cleared it, once, then again. His eyes were misty when he looked back across the table.
"You've been spending a lot of time with her," he said.
"She reminds me so much of Alex," Steel replied, quietly. "He was a feral child too, that blazing hair flying as he wreaked havoc. Then just when you could swear that you were going to throttle him, he'd climb up into your lap and turn those sparkling brown eyes up at you to tell you he loved you. He loved stories too, you know. He could listen to them for hours, and tell them for twice as long." Steel sighed heavily and wiped his eyes with a handkerchief. "Don't worry about your daughter, son. She's with family. Just focus on the mission at hand."
"As far as I know, the mission at hand is to get my daughter back," Jordan said, trying to keep his tone neutral.
Steel shook his head. "The mission at hand is to save our people, and the world by extension. If you can do that, you will have earned the right to raise the royal heir of the united kingdoms."
"Tall order," Jordan said, darkly.
"Care to forfeit?" Steel asked, with a twinkle in his eye.
"Not on your life, old man."
Steel laughed, but the laugh quickly became a cough, and Jordan hurried to a side table where a pitcher of water stood surrounded by glasses. He filled one and brought it to Steel, who sipped slowly. He pulled himself under control, wheezing slightly.
"You aren't well," Jordan said, quietly.
"Listen to me, son," Steel said. "If Montague wins, everything will be lost. I've stood in his way for a hundred years, but now..."
The doors opened, and Jordan returned to his seat. Jeffery strode in, followed by a thin, tormented woman. He shot Jordan a questioning look which was returned by a wave of the hand, indicating that he would catch him up later. Jeffery and the woman sat across from each other at the center of the table, halfway between Steel and Jordan.
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