The Complete Harvesters Series

by Luke R. Mitchell

  “It pulls thermal energy from the air to stop incoming bullets.”

  It was hard to say it in a way that didn’t sound ridiculous out loud.

  Pryce paused his inspection to look up at her. “Well, I’ll be damned. It just boggles the mind.”

  “I guess it’s easy to start taking this kind of stuff for granted.” She conjured a small sphere of nebulous green light into existence over her palm and watched Pryce, so clearly fascinated by all of this. She smiled, relishing the electric tingles the minor channeling sent racing through her body.

  He set the catcher back in front of her so he could clap his hands. “Amazing.”

  “If you say so.” She released her hold on the light.

  “And it’s all equivalent exchange? Energy in equals energy out?”

  “If you’re really good, yeah, but less skilled arcanists tend to waste a lot of energy.”

  “Makes sense, but there must be some limit to . . .” He shook his head and leaned back. “I’m sorry. Someday, I’d like to ask you eight thousand questions about how all of this works, but Jarek’s right. You should sleep while you can.”

  She watched him extract his legs from the bench. “You don’t do this very often, do you? Take people in like this, I mean.”

  A sad smile crossed his face. “I won’t say Jarek’s family. We don’t have family anymore, he and I. But he’s a good kid, no matter how hard he tries to hide it. Better than he himself knows, I sometimes think.”

  She pushed down the urge to ask if they were talking about the same Jarek. The way Pryce talked about him, the almost gentle way Jarek had reacted to her threats . . . Maybe there was an ounce or two more to the guy than his dangerous jackass routine let on.

  She picked the etcher back up. “I need to get these etchings done tonight, but I can talk while I work. The concentration part doesn’t really come till later.”

  He inclined his head and sat back down, settling his elbows on the tabletop and propping his chin up on intertwined fingers.

  “He lost his parents in the Catastrophe?” she asked, starting on the first glyph.

  Pryce studied her and nodded. “Been on his own ever since, for the most part. He was on a short stint with a merc outfit when I first met him. That didn’t end too well.”

  “For him?”

  “For them.”

  When she glanced up, he looked ten years older. “Sounds like there’s a story there.”

  “Oh, yes. That’s where he got his nickname, actually.”

  “His nickname?”

  “In a lot of circles, they call him the Soldier of Charity. When he has Fela, at least.”

  This time, she couldn’t hold it back. “We’re talking about the same Jarek, right?”

  He chuckled. “There’s a reason his nickname isn’t the Czar of Teamwork and Sensitivity.”

  She smiled back. As a general rule, she didn’t really trust anyone until they had damn well earned it at least thrice over, but occasionally she decided she liked certain people. Jay Pryce was quickly making his way onto that short list.

  “I’ll keep that in mind.”

  “He’s been through a lot,” Pryce said. “Seen too much. He might not play well with others, but his heart’s in the right place. Assuming I have any right to say what that place is.”

  She put the finishing touches on her third glyph. “Why are you telling me all this?”

  Pryce showed her a tired smile. “Because you seem like you might care.”

  Well, that was sobering. She swallowed, and whatever dam had been staving off the exhaustion picked that moment to break inside her.

  “Sleep.” Pryce waved at the table. “You can take all this tomorrow—the engraver too. Get some rest.”

  Apparently he’d seen the dam break too.

  She sighed and gave a hesitant nod.

  He left as she began to gather up her supplies and returned a few moments later carrying a small leather satchel. He held it out to her.

  “You’re sure?”

  He shrugged. “Feels nice to help someone while I can.”

  She thanked him and scooped the table’s contents into the satchel’s main compartment.

  “Why don’t you use my bed tonight?” he added.

  She stiffened, her defensive reflexes kicking in. “I’m not stealing an old man’s bed. I can sleep on a couch or in a chair just like those people up there with the man bits.”

  “Oh, I’ve no doubt of that, but I probably won’t sleep tonight now anyway, and if I give the bed to Jarek, he’ll probably just bleed all over my nice white sheets.”

  He met her uncertain look with a friendly smile. “Let an old man pamper a lady for a night. I won’t tell if you won’t.”

  She smiled and finally gave a shrug. “Have it your way.”

  She climbed the stairs, not the least bit excited about flying off tomorrow to stick her head into business that wasn’t hers. Then again, if even a tenth of the people around Newark were half as good as Pryce, maybe there were worse ways to risk one’s neck than trying to make sure the place wasn’t about to become the new raknoth ground zero.

  She laid down on Pryce’s soft bed, her entire body weeping in relief, and decided that these were questions for her tomorrow self to figure out. Within the minute, sleep took her.

  12

  No one talked on the short walk to the ship the next morning, partially out of fear the Reds would still be out looking for them and partially by merit of the ridiculous predawn hour that Rachel wasn’t entirely convinced could even rightfully be called morning. To top it all off, she’d had just enough whiskey the previous night to leave a dull ache in her head.

  Yes, it was just as well that no one talked. She couldn’t imagine anything Michael or Jarek would have to say right then would do anything but piss her off more.

  A sleek-looking ship was waiting for them when they arrived in the still mostly dark space of the overgrown park.

  “Baby,” Jarek said, patting its hull, “you’ll never believe the week I’m having.”

  In response, the rear hatch let out a few pops and began to descend into a boarding ramp.

  The ship looked as if it might have been a military design—not that she was an expert. Its body was about the size of a small trailer home, but the sleek angularity of its matte black hull panels and compact wings whispered promises of stealth and speed nonetheless.

  She absentmindedly reached out to touch the hull, more to appease a vague curiosity than to learn anything of value.

  “All aboard,” Al’s voice said quietly from inside the empty ship as the boarding ramp touched down.

  Yep. The whole artificial intelligence thing was definitely going to take some getting used to.

  Jarek strode up the boarding ramp with the air of a child who wanted to show off his favorite toy but was scared to admit he cared what anyone thought.

  How the hell had that guy ended up in possession of a fancy ship, a fancy battle suit, and a freaking artificial intelligence?

  Inside, the ship was just large enough to constitute a cozy living space, which was exactly what the first compartment looked like—minus the “cozy” part.

  A small, stiff-looking cot lay against the right wall. At the foot of the cot, a faded brown recliner faced a film-screen TV that hung over the drawers on the opposite wall of the cabin. Beyond the drawers was a tall locker with an obscenely large sword hanging along its side.

  “What the hell is that thing?”

  He followed her gaze and gave the giant sword an affectionate pat. “It’s my Big Whacker.”

  Of course it was. Talk about overcompensation. The thing looked far too heavy to be effectively wielded, but maybe that was where this suit of his came in.

  Rachel eyed the rest of the ship. The bare-bones kitchen space and the separate compartment that must’ve been a small bathroom were the last stops before the bulkhead that separated the cabin from the cockpit.

  “So you live here?”
she asked.

  “Sometimes, yeah.” Jarek ran a hand through the back of his hair. “Most of the time, I guess.”

  She stared at him. “Who are you?”

  He shrugged. “I’m awesome. Don’t worry about it.”

  “Not what I was implying.”

  Michael cleared his throat. “It’s a heck of a ship, Jarek.”

  “Yeah,” she said, her tone flat. “Really cool. Seriously.”

  “Oh, bite me, you wiener hats,” Jarek said. “And I’ll remind you that you don’t need to be here, Goldilocks. I’m not even rightly sure I remember anyone inviting you. Feel free to step off at any time.”

  “Happy to, just as soon as Michael steps off with me.”

  He threw his hands up and turned for the cockpit. “It’s like my life is stuck on some shitty broken record.” From the cockpit, he called, “Come strap in for takeoff. Or don’t. See if I care.”

  “‘Weiner hats,’” Michael murmured beside her. “What does that even mean?”

  “I don’t know. But you totally are one.”

  “Glad to see we’re all going to be mature adults on this trip.”

  She stalked up to the cockpit.

  The cockpit only had proper seats for two, the pilot and the copilot, but there were benches against the bulkhead to either side of the doorway, complete with harnesses in case the ride got bumpy. She eyed Jarek lounging in the captain’s chair, then turned to plop down on the left bench.

  “Prepare for takeoff, Al,” Jarek said. “Whoa!” he added as Michael came into the cockpit and moved to the copilot’s chair.

  “What?” Michael said.

  “That’s Al’s chair, muchacho. Show some respect.”

  Michael shot her a confused look. “Oh, uh, sorry.”

  “Oh, really, sir,” Al said through the cockpit speakers.

  Jarek regarded Michael with a stern expression. Then his face cracked into a smile. “Just screwin’ with you, Mikey. Whaddaya think, I’m some kind of crazy person? Strap in.”

  Michael did so, moving far more cautiously than the task merited.

  “You secure back there, Goldilocks?” Jarek asked. “God forbid we lose you.”

  She pulled on her harness, shot him her sweetest smile, and gave him a middle-fingered thumbs-up.

  Jarek beamed at her, then stomped one of the pedals in front of him.

  Rachel’s stomach lurched as the ship shot smoothly into the air. Jarek peered over his shoulder, winked, and turned back to the controls. The whooshing sensation in her abdomen shifted directions as the ship accelerated forward and banked to the left.

  Maybe his heart was in the right place (she still wasn’t sold on Pryce’s word there), but that didn’t make Jarek any less of an asshole.

  They leveled out of the turn and continued accelerating.

  “All yours, Al,” Jarek said. “To Deadwood, we go.”

  “Got it, sir. We can be there in as little as three hours.”

  Jarek unfastened his harness. “No hurry. Just wanted to clear Newark before anyone with eyes could see us. No reason to show up knocking on Weston’s door at five in the morning over there.” He looked back at Michael and Rachel. “You guys might as well get some sleep if you can.”

  As lovely as that sounded, she had a bullet catcher that needed finishing.

  “Maybe we should figure out what the plan is before we get there,” Michael said.

  Jarek rolled his eyes. “Don’t be such a boy scout, boy scout. We’ll tell the guy what’s up. And if that’s not good enough, we’ll knock his ass out and drag him back with us. Shit, I don’t know. It’ll be fine.”

  “And what if it’s not?” Michael said. “What if he’s armed and not agreeable? What if he’s not even there? What if he’s surrounded by civilians and decides to put up a fight?”

  “Or,” Jarek said, “what if he’s surrounded by innocent, armed civilians riding giant teddy bears with gumdrops for eyes? Then we’re really screwed.”

  Michael’s brows knitted together. “What? The point is, we have no idea what we’re walking into here, so we need to be ready for anything.”

  “Well, yeah,” Jarek said. “Hence the giant gumdrop-eyed teddy bear mount contingency.”

  Michael’s peaceful exterior was beginning to crack.

  “Boys . . .” she said.

  Michael stood. “You’re a real handful, you know that?” He left the cockpit before anything more could spill out.

  Jarek watched him go, trying and failing to contain a grin.

  She scowled at him and leaned over to glance into the back cabin. Michael had plopped down into the recliner, arms crossed moodily across his chest. Irritated as he was, she knew he’d be asleep within minutes. The Spongehead had always slept like a rock.

  She, on the other hand, would not be asleep within minutes, which meant she’d be stuck with Jarek Slater. Wonderful.

  “I’m using your shower,” she announced.

  “Need help?” Jarek said. “It can get awfully confusing in there with all those dials and knobbies.”

  “Somehow, I think I’ll find a way.”

  Cramped and lukewarm as it was, the shower was a godsend. It had been what, two days? Three? Too long, for sure. There’d been too much. Everything was blending together into one long, unpleasant trip. However many days it had been, it felt pretty damn good to be at least half clean for a few minutes. Returning to her dirty clothes tarnished the experience, but it was still something.

  Michael was lightly snoring when she stepped out of the tiny bathroom, and Jarek was standing in the dim cabin, stripping off his dark, torn Henley. She caught a glimpse of a morbidly mesmerizing collection of scars on his lean, well-muscled torso.

  Then he shot a wink at her, and she headed for the cockpit with a sigh.

  There didn’t seem to be any obvious work surfaces on the ship, so she settled down on the floor facing one of the benches and began unpacking the scraps she’d scrounged from Pryce’s odd emporium.

  Jarek stalked into the small bathroom and thumped around in the shower for a few minutes, whistling a tune she didn’t recognize. A few minutes later, he plopped down in the pilot’s chair sporting a fresh maroon Henley and smelling of soap and deodorant. He proceeded to occupy himself with some stupid game on his comm holo.

  “You can do that over here,” he said some time later, tapping at the flat space of the console in front of the copilot’s chair. “Whatever that is.”

  She didn’t look away from the glyph she was etching. “It’s called enchanting in most circles. And I’m fine down here.”

  “Oh, right. Enchanting. Should’ve known. So what’re you—”

  “Getting ready to make another one of these.” She held up her own bullet catcher. “It basically detects incoming bullets and stops them if they’re gonna hit the person who’s wearing it.”

  He swiveled his chair around, interested now. “So that’s how you were doing that. You know, I’ve deflected a few bullets with a sword before . . .”

  “Not without help,” Al said quietly. “And it’s hardly proved practical, sir.”

  Jarek frowned at the disembodied voice. “Whose side are you on again, Mr. Robot?”

  “I’m trying to keep my brother alive,” she said, “not win a competition.”

  “It’s still a competition, Goldilocks. I’m just not your opponent.”

  She met his eyes. Was that true? It was and it wasn’t, depending on how she looked at it. She turned back to her work.

  “So how does it work?” he said after a while.

  She put the final touches on a glyph in the shape of an eye before looking up. “In a nutshell, it’s kind of like writing code. Except instead of text commands, I use glyphs. Then I power them up. It’s complicated.”

  He scooted over to the adjacent bench and picked up her own catcher for inspection. “And you can track an incoming bullet with a few of these glyphs? I’m not a physicist or anything, but that sounds like some
complicated shit to parse out.”

  “Well said, sir,” Al said. “I was wondering the same thing, though.”

  Rachel allowed herself a small smile. “A lot of it comes down to how accurately I can focus my intention when I empower each glyph.”

  “Sounds quite subjective,” Al said.

  “There’s a reason I was still scared to get shot at.”

  “Wimp,” Jarek said.

  She rolled her eyes.

  “So all of this comes down to energy in and energy out?” Jarek asked.

  “If you’re really good, yeah, but most arcanists tend to waste a lot of energy, even on the basic stuff.”

  “And how many arcanists would that be, roughly?” Al said.

  “You’re awfully curious about all this for a robot and a hardened mercenary,” Rachel said.

  “Well, you’re our first,” Jarek said, wiggling his eyebrows. “Plus Pryce would kill us if we didn’t come back with answers to some of his questions. The guy has so many of them.”

  She set down the piece she was working on and rotated to face Jarek. “I’ve only ever met three other arcanists, the one who helped train me when I was young and two who passed through Unity a grand total of three times over fifteen years. So I don’t think there are that many of us around these days, if there ever were.”

  “Is it an inherited trait?” Al asked.

  “Christ, I don’t know.” She waved impatiently. “I’m not a professor of arcanism. But my mother was gifted too, so maybe.”

  She started etching the last glyph in the silence that followed.

  “So even if it’s energy in versus energy out,” Jarek said, “there’s gotta be some kind of limit, right? That’s one of Pryce’s favorite thought experiments. I listened to him ramble for half an hour one time about how you guys must essentially be like power lines.”

  “He’s a clever man.”

  “And he knows it. So what does it feel like, being a power line?”

  She finished the glyph and set her tool down. “Channeling. That’s what we call it. It’s kind of like a shock that pours through your entire body, like this wave of . . . not heat, I guess, but—”

  “Energy?”