The Complete Harvesters Series

by Luke R. Mitchell

  Murmurs.

  Nelken stepped forward to take the lead. “Whether or not we’re able to counter these attacks, it falls to us to support those affected however we can. At nightfall, we’ll send out teams to help survivors and potential targets alike find shelter, and—”

  “Shelter where?” someone called. “Where’s left to hide?”

  Several more questions and protests followed on the back of that one, blurring together into a jumbled mess of voices as the tangible, frantic energy slithering its way through the crowd grew, strengthening its hold on the room.

  Nelken and Daniels called for quiet. Behind them, Sloan was still silent. The little weasel looked like he was thinking about doing something stupid or underhanded. Probably both.

  “The situation is dire,” Nelken said, nearly shouting now to be heard over the persistent murmurs and whispers, “but we will keep our heads and get through it. We’re Resistance, remember? We’re here to fight the hard fights, to stand up to those no one else will stand up to.”

  “Is that what you’re doing?” Sloan asked, his nasally voice not as strong as Nelken’s or Daniels’ but loud enough to be heard through the room nonetheless.

  Nelken and Daniels looked back at their counterpart. Nelken’s back was to Jarek, but the look on Daniels’ face was that of someone who’d just realized the pet snake perched behind them was in fact a venomous viper that had no qualms whatsoever with striking them dead.

  “Sloan—”

  “Because earlier,” Sloan said, “it sounded an awful lot to me like you were thinking about standing beside those alien bastards, not against them.”

  More whispers rippled through the crowd, pressure building like a sealed pot of boiling water.

  Sloan watched his fellow commanders smugly. The slimy Dick had finally found a spine. Too bad it’d had to happen right when it was liable to cause a riot.

  “Richard,” Nelken said, his voice low enough that most of the crowd wouldn’t hear and that Jarek would have missed it if not for Fela’s sensors. “Now is not the time for—”

  “That’s right,” Sloan called out to the crowd that was suddenly about a light breeze away from a collective conniption. “You’ve probably all been wondering what we were meeting about in private this afternoon.” He strolled around Nelken and Daniels as he spoke, putting himself between them and the crowd.

  Nelken looked to be very seriously considering closing Sloan’s mouth with his clenched fists. He must’ve realized doing so would only worsen the situation, though, because he, along with Daniels, only glared at the back of Sloan’s head as the rogue commander pointed a finger toward Jarek and the others.

  “We were hearing from them. From the two freaks who wrecked our base just three days ago and their newest batch of alien freak friends.”

  “Whoa!” Jarek cried. “Who knew you were such a closet bigot, Dick?”

  Rachel kicked his leg in what was presumably a signal for him to shut the hell up, but too many heads had already turned.

  Sloan just sneered at him. The man wasn’t a complete idiot. He knew the damage was already done.

  Jarek looked from the mass of heads watching him to Nelken and Daniels, who looked as unsure as he was about how to catch the live impact grenade Sloan had just lobbed them.

  Nothing to do now but eat it.

  “Look,” he said, turning to face the bulk of the crowd, “we’ve seen a lot of shit today. The kind of shit that two-thirds of your commanders thought might be worth thinking about and”—he waved a hand—“I don’t know, verifying before we decided to induce a base-wide stroke epidemic.”

  “What’s he talking about?” voices asked the commanders.

  “Who are those two kids?” others called. “What are they doing here?”

  “As Mr. Slater so eloquently put it,” Daniels called over the crowd, “we’ve learned a good deal of new information about the raknoth threat this afternoon. Perhaps most importantly, we’ve learned that, after the incident with the nest device three days ago, the raknoth themselves may no longer be the greatest threat this planet faces.”

  “Yes,” Sloan said, a kind of frantic fervor burning in his eyes now. “The rakul! The conveniently absent monsters that a pair of aliens”—he pointed at Haldin and Johnny—“learned about from their own raknoth friend. What’s not to trust?”

  Dozens of suspicious eyes turned to study Haldin and Johnny.

  Shit. Jarek needed to say something, anything to disrupt the manic idiot. But there was too much. Too much to explain, and too little patience left in those accusatory stares.

  He was about to try anyway when Rachel stepped up.

  “I’ve seen them,” she said, projecting her voice in a way he wasn’t used to hearing from her.

  That gave a few of them pause. More heads turned, waiting, listening.

  Rachel looked around the room, meeting their eyes. Finally, she pointed to Haldin. “None of you will like what I’m about to say, but I’ve been inside his head, seen his thoughts and memories.”

  She’d been right. The wave of distrust that swept through the crowd was practically tangible.

  “And what I saw…” Rachel continued, raising her voice to be heard. “Look, none of you are going to want to hear this, but the raknoth aren’t the biggest bads out there. They have bosses too, and those bosses are coming for us.”

  More murmurs.

  Most of the crowd was still eyeing their entire corner with distrust, but a few expressions had turned doubtful, questioning.

  Apparently Rachel had one of those trustworthy faces.

  “Lies and hearsay,” Sloan called, drawing the crowd’s attention back to him. “We cannot stand for this. We will not allow this organization to be commanded by those who’d listen to the word of alien sympathize—”

  Alaric Weston pushed his way wordlessly out of the crowd. Sloan recoiled at the look in his eyes, then fist met bony cheek with a smacking thud, and Commander Sloan fell to the concrete with a yelp.

  In the wave of gasps that rushed through the room, Jarek managed to bite back his cry of delight and settle for a satisfied grin. It served the bastard right.

  The only question was whether Alaric’s gambit would pull the crowd into order or convince them to lose it.

  “You crazy…” Sloan muttered from the floor, his hand clutched to his cheek and his nauseatingly green eyes wide and wild as he looked up at Alaric. “How dare y—”

  “Shut your mouth.” Alaric didn’t say it particularly loud, but there was enough surly weight in his tone that Sloan froze mid-word, tensing as if Alaric were about to strike him again.

  Behind them, Nelken and Daniels looked almost as shocked as if Alaric had hit them too.

  Before anyone could push past the hurdle of their surprise, Alaric turned to face the crowd.

  “You all know who I am, what I’ve done.” He swept the crowd with his gaze, letting the silence stretch. “You’ve all heard stories about why I left. Some might have been accurate, others probably not. But here’s the one bit of truth that matters: I left because I was afraid. Not afraid for my life. Not afraid we were going to lose.”

  The room hung on a silent string, waiting, watching the confession of their founding father with mouths agape.

  “I was afraid to face the truth that was looking me square in the eyes. I was afraid to face the son the raknoth took from me, the boy they twisted and prodded until he was able to kill his own mother.”

  The outpouring of whispers Jarek expected didn’t come. Only silence.

  When Alaric spoke again, his voice was a shade rougher. “Turning away from that truth was the only way I knew to keep my sanity. But it was wrong. I left my son to the Overlord, let that bastard claw his way deeper into Seth’s head while I sat on the other side of the country pretending I was doing something good.” He shook his head and glanced back at Nelken and Daniels. “Well no more.”

  He looked back out to the crowd, his eyes regaining their
usual steel. “You know who I am. You know I have as much reason to hate the raknoth as any of you. And after everything I’ve seen, I’m here to tell you that if Rachel believes there are worse than the raknoth out there, then I believe it too, and no amount of indignant yapping on our parts will change the facts.”

  Silence, broken only by the shuffling of Sloan pulling his gangly self to his feet behind Alaric.

  “Touching,” Sloan said. “But seeing as you just struck a Commander of the Resistance—”

  “Oh please,” Alaric said. “This isn’t some royal court. My hands’ll stay attached to my wrists, and I’ll shut you up again if I have to. I mean to keep these people safe, no matter what that means, and right now, you’re not helping.”

  Sloan’s nostrils flared, his lip quivering with a barely contained snarl. “You left, Weston. This isn’t your Resistance anymore.”

  Alaric shook his head. “This has never been my Resistance, Dick. It’s ours. And I’m back now.”

  Sloan’s stare shifted from Alaric to the crowd. “Are you all going to stand for this? For runaways who waltz back in telling us to listen to the enemy, to trust them?”

  “Carmichael,” Nelken said. “Simmons.”

  Two of the men on guard duty, or two who were geared up and toting shotguns, at least, stepped forward.

  “Take Commander Sloan back to his quarters, and see to it he stays there for the time being.”

  Sloan whirled on Nelken, emerald eyes wide. “You can’t.” He turned to the approaching guards. “Hold that order, soldiers.”

  The two barely paused to trade a glance.

  Sloan gave one last, low, “I am your Commander,” to the two Resistance guards.

  They took his shoulders.

  “This isn’t over,” Sloan snarled at Alaric and the other commanders.

  Then he clenched his jaw and shuffled silently off with the guards, electing to maintain what little dignity he had left by not struggling.

  20

  “The Resistance must have at least a few anti-air measures to work with,” Pryce said, looking away from his inspection of Johnny.

  “A few old launchers, from the sound of it,” Jarek said, fighting down a smile at the look on Johnny’s face.

  As bleak as things seemed right now, it was hard not to be a little amused at the side show going on beside Michael’s bed in medical.

  When Pryce had asked Johnny if he minded him taking a closer look, Johnny had only reluctantly agreed.

  “As long as all ten fingers stay outside of me,” he’d said. “I know how it is with you people and aliens and probes.”

  Jarek had pointed out that the probing typically went the other way around, and Pryce had begun his inspection on a thoroughly uncomforted Johnny. Mercifully, he’d abided by Johnny’s single condition as he poked and prodded, checking pulse, pupillary reflex, something with the fingernails he was pretty sure had to do with circulatory function, and about fifty other things Jarek wasn’t really sure about.

  “The problem,” Jarek continued, “is trying to cover two entire cities with a handful of ground-deployed weapons.”

  “This outfit really doesn’t have a few ships to whip up and go harass them with?” Johnny asked.

  “Just the two,” Jarek said. “And neither of them is armed as far as I know. My ship’s barely holding together as it is.” He glanced at Rachel. “You got any clever tricks tucked up those magical sleeves, Goldilocks?”

  She shrugged. “I might be able to knock a ship or two out of the sky if you got me close.” She looked at Haldin. “What about you? Ever tried scrambling electronics before?”

  Haldin gave her a wolfish grin that for some reason scratched Jarek’s irritation button. “Once or twice, maybe.”

  “All right then,” Jarek said. “Maybe we should go see about commissioning one of those ships and having you two run interference.”

  It wasn’t much, but it was something.

  Alaric’s theatrical reentry to the fight had helped halt the momentum of the unrest creeping through the ranks—at least enough that Nelken had been able to delay the ticking time bomb that was the Resistance membership right now by promising to hold full council to discuss facts and future plans as soon as the bombing runs had been dealt with.

  Of course, resetting the clock and actually disarming the lingering riot bomb were two different things. That was a problem for after they’d dealt with Zar’Golga, though.

  They didn’t have much to work with, but if they didn’t want to watch the Resistance fall into disorder, they needed to throw a monkey wrench into the Golga’s bombing operation, and they needed to do it fast.

  If someone had told Jarek a couple of days ago that the Resistance was fixing to implode, he probably would’ve given them a solemn thumbs-up and continued on with not giving a rat’s ass. But now…

  “Ow!” Johnny jerked a hand back from Pryce, who must have pinched his finger.

  The doctor on duty poked her head in at the sound, frowned at the lot of them, then disappeared back to the front room. She seemed less than thrilled that Michael’s bedside had become their unofficial meeting spot.

  “This is really the part of our story that got the most of your curiosity?” Haldin asked Pryce.

  “Oh, I assure you,” Pryce said, “I am thoroughly intrigued across the board. But this is the only part of the story I have any ability to assess for myself. Talking about space-faring, world-destroying aliens, I have no real point of reference by which to draw reasonable conclusions. You two, on the other hand—”

  Pryce abruptly abandoned his inspection of Johnny’s teeth and clapped his hands in Johnny’s face with a wordless cry.

  Johnny jerked back, hands raised defensively.

  “—appear to be perfectly human upon rudimentary inspection,” Pryce concluded. “Which tells us nothing about the validity of your claims, but is quite astounding if you truly came from this Enochia.”

  Jarek cleared his throat.

  “Right.” Pryce stepped back from Johnny and shoved his hands in his pockets. “Not the most important thing to be talking about when we have the Overlord bombing the city and a race of intergalactic conquerors on deck.”

  As if on cue, the alarm came silently alive in the corner with a rhythmic pulsing of orange light.

  “Another bombing run?” Haldin asked.

  The light strobed four more times then died.

  “Probably.” Jarek shook his head. “Bastards.”

  “We should contact our people,” Haldin said. “They can help us handle this.”

  That was probably true, but they’d have to be careful about involving the other Enochians, and doubly so about Alton. Inviting any outsiders into the fray right now would only breed more distrust in the Resistance. God forbid word got out that one of them was a raknoth.

  Haldin brought his comm holo to life just in time to show an incoming call from Alton.

  “Speak of the devil,” Jarek mumbled.

  Haldin answered the call and turned so the rest of the group would be in frame. After a few seconds of idling, the holo floating over Haldin’s arm resolved into an image of Elise, Alton, and a third man Jarek didn’t recognize—older, maybe in his early fifties, with jet black hair, an eloquent-looking mustache, and sharp olive green eyes.

  Jarek gave a jovial wave. “Howdy, gang.”

  “Sorry we didn’t check in sooner,” Haldin said. “It’s been a hectic day.”

  “Earthlings putting you to work?” Elise asked.

  “That’s one way to put it,” Johnny muttered, eyeing Pryce.

  “Any news?” Haldin asked. “We’re kinda dealing with a situation over here.”

  “The bombings,” Alton said.

  So they were watching from somewhere. Hell, they were in a spaceship. Who knew what they could be doing and seeing from that thing?

  “You saw,” Haldin said. “Good. We could probably use your help, actually.” He glanced back at Jarek and the others.
“Assuming the good folks here at Resistance HQ don’t riot at the thought of us freakish alien types pitching in.”

  Jarek shrugged. “I’ve always been more of the save bacon first, ask questions later mindset anyways.”

  “Engaging Golga’s forces head on is unwise,” Alton said.

  “No disagreements here,” Jarek said, “but letting them bomb out the few poor bastards they didn’t get fifteen years ago isn’t really an option either.”

  Alton inclined his head. “I understand, but meeting brute force with more of the same will do nothing but widen the already considerable rift between our peoples. We can’t let that happen if we hope to prepare for the rakul in time.”

  “Well I’d try to go hug them into submission, but something tells me that’s not gonna pan out so well. That Golga guy didn’t seem like he was up for talking.”

  “I think Alton’s suggesting more of a surgical strike,” Haldin said.

  Alton nodded. “Much as I would like to make everyone see reason here, Jarek is not wrong. Golga was not willing to listen before, and I see no reason to believe we could ever convince him to change his mind.”

  “But why?” Rachel asked. “If you and the Red King are so sure the rakul are gonna toast you guys too, why isn’t he? Why wouldn’t he want to fight for his life?”

  “Many of my people would rather kneel at the feet of the rakul and beg forgiveness than resist them and invite certain death. Zar’Golga is no coward, though. He’s nearly as old as the youngest of the rakul. If they truly respect any of the raknoth, he was among them before we fell from their graces. And if he truly believes they are coming now, I imagine he’s hoping he might curry favor by laying waste to us before they arrive. He won’t stop until they are here or we are dead.”