The Complete Harvesters Series

by Luke R. Mitchell

  “What?” He sized up her frown. “Are you telling me this isn’t the part where we totally make out?”

  Try as she might, she couldn’t manage to halt the heat flowing into her cheeks. “It so isn’t.”

  She dropped his gaze while she still could, but not before she caught the wolfish grin spreading across his mouth.

  Thankfully, he rose without another word and tromped up toward the cockpit.

  “We’d better get moving, then,” he called over his shoulder.

  “Now?” She stood and followed after him.

  “Might as well get over there and get settled while it’s dark,” he said as she plopped down in the copilot’s chair beside him. “That way Al can watch for funny business through the night.”

  “Both outside and inside the ship, sir,” Al said.

  “Yeah, yeah,” Jarek said. “Just plot the course, will you, Mr. Robot?”

  “Already plotted, sir. Are we all sure about this?”

  Jarek turned a questioning look to Rachel. “There’s still time to bail, Goldilocks. Judgment free. Even by my standards, this is kind of a bold move. If Golga decides to play dirty—”

  “You’ll need someone watching your back,” she finished. “What do you think I’m here for, the good company?”

  “I mean, it’s not bad, right?”

  She broke their gaze and looked out the banged-up windshield to hide her smile. Once she was facing the thick darkness outside rather than Jarek’s infernal grin, though, her smile died quickly enough.

  “I’m not leaving.”

  “All right then,” Jarek said. “You know the drill, Al.”

  “Assuming this thing can still fly,” Rachel muttered as Al powered up the ship’s motors.

  The ship had taken more than its fair share of gunfire that morning.

  Jarek frowned at the beaten windshield. “She’ll hold together.” He winced at the protesting groan that accompanied their liftoff. “Right, Al?”

  “At this point, I don’t know if we would survive a collision with a pigeon,” Al said, yawing the ship around and easing into a careful acceleration, “but yes, sir. The ship is more or less capable of making the trip.”

  Jarek met her dubious stare. “See? Totally golden. As long as we don’t end up needing to make a hasty getaway.”

  She arched an eyebrow. “Yeah. ’Cause when has that ever happened before?”

  Jarek patted the control console. “She’ll hold together. I might need to recruit Pryce for some serious repair work once we make it back. But she’ll hold together.”

  Even with their creeping speed and excessively cautious route, the flight didn’t take long. Thirty minutes later, they were closing in on Yankee Stadium from the northeast. According to the map, at least.

  The only real visual landmark was the glow of Zar’Golga’s New York base of operations several miles to the south. Directly below, though, by the stadium, it was too dark to pick out much other than the occasional light or fire here or there.

  Al brought them to a quiet landing in what the map proclaimed had once been Joyce Kilmer Park and cut the engines. Without the steady hum of the engines and with nothing but darkness outside, the silence pressed in on them extra heavy, right along with the apprehension—at being in enemy territory, at what they were fixing to do tomorrow.

  At being utterly alone in the dark night with Jarek Slater.

  She felt more than saw him watching her. Not that there was much to see. Al had killed the lights in the cockpit and dimmed those in the back cabin enough to keep the cockpit windshield from acting as a well-lit Come kill us here sign.

  “What?” she asked, the heat in her cheeks actually making her grateful for the cover of darkness.

  The Jarek-shaped silhouette shook its head. “Nothing. We should get some sleep. You take the cot, I’ll—”

  “Take your cot.” Rachel gingerly plodded through the dark and laid down on one of the benches at the rear of the cockpit. “The prize fighter needs his beauty sleep. I promise I’ll survive.”

  He hovered nearby for a second, seeming like he’d say something, but then disappeared into the back without a word. There was the padding of bare feet and a few shuffling noises, then a series of faint mechanical whirs and more decisive clicks and snaps.

  Jarek entered the cockpit again, his silhouette enlarged with Fela’s added bulk.

  “What’re you—”

  He bent down and scooped her up into his arms.

  “Hey!” she cried as he maneuvered them into the back cabin.

  “Shh,” he whispered.

  “Might I remind you both that loud noises are currently inadvisable?” Al said quietly from the cabin speakers.

  “See?” Jarek said.

  “Yeah, well maybe you shouldn’t go around snatching people up like Tarzan.”

  The dim lighting in the cabin was just enough for her to make out his face as he stopped at the cot and studied her.

  “You gonna put me down, or do I have to give you a banana or something?”

  He smiled and set her gently down on the cot. “Rewards are welcome but not required.”

  He lingered over her, holding her gaze, and for a long, breathless moment, she thought he’d kiss her again. Worse, she wanted him to. But thankfully some corner of her sane mind managed to squeeze out, “Head in the game, Tarzan. Big day tomorrow. Eye on the prize and all that.”

  He cocked a brow. “Isn’t it?”

  She forced a snort, trying to ignore the rest of the feelings swirling through her. “I never really took you for a cheese ball, but…”

  “Oh, I’m just full of surprises.” Finally, mercifully, he stood back up and broke some of the tension between them.

  “Where are you gonna sleep?”

  By way of reply, he sank to the deck and stretched out beside the cot.

  “Seriously?”

  “Bedding is kind of redundant when you have an exo with perfectly formable internal padding,” Jarek said. “Al knows how I like it.”

  “Is it too much to ask to be left out of your innuendos, sir?”

  “You know it is,” Jarek said. “Now can you be a dear and get the lights?”

  Al affected a sniff in response, and the cabin lights cut out, leaving them in nearly complete blackness. She couldn’t even see Jarek now.

  “Thanks, buddy,” he said quietly. Then, after a pregnant silence, “Guess I’ll see you bright and early, Goldilocks.”

  The fear that she’d been holding down since first boarding the ship to wait for Jarek began to creep out now, writhing its tendrils around her in the dark and weighing her down until she couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe.

  Tomorrow. What was going to happen tomorrow, she couldn’t say, but there was no option that sounded anything less than terrifying—short of Golga simply not showing up, of course. Something told her that wasn’t going to happen, though.

  Slowly, almost timidly, she reached out in the darkness and found Jarek’s hand already resting on the edge of the cot, waiting for hers. She gripped it tightly, wishing she could feel the warmth of his flesh instead of the cool smoothness of his armor.

  Jarek must have had a similar thought, because he wordlessly released her hand, and after a pair of clicks and a faint whir, a warm hand found hers and squeezed.

  She squeezed back, half a dozen thoughts hanging on the edge of her tongue. For a long time, she hung there in limbo, wanting to talk, to cry, to run. To do anything but lie there and wait for the inevitable.

  Jarek held her hand all the while, and she held his back until the silent darkness finally took her.

  24

  Form-adaptive, supportive internal membrane and gallant chivalry aside, when he woke, Jarek certainly didn’t feel like it was a TranqFoam mattress he’d been sleeping on. The aches and pains in his hips and back weren’t so bad next to the discomfort radiating—or not radiating, as it were—from his right arm, which was numb as a brick.

  His eyes s
howed him what his hand should have been able to feel: even after he’d finally managed to fall asleep, Fela had kept his arm raised up to the cot side, and his fingers were still intertwined with Rachel’s. He probably had Al to thank for that, the romantic devil.

  Thoughts of romance faded from thought as Jarek untangled his fingers from Rachel’s and peered up at the glint of dawn sunlight poking in from the cockpit windshield. The blood red glint.

  “Well that can’t be good,” he muttered, trying to shake some semblance of life back into his arm. “Talk to me, Mr. Robot”

  “A single ship did enter the stadium, sir,” Al said in his earpiece. “Roughly three hours ago. But it left quickly enough. It only appeared to be sweeping the area.”

  “Appeared to be?”

  Beside him, Rachel stirred with a moody groan.

  “That’s a lot of concrete for the scanners to see through, sir. Perhaps if you’d been more open to a certain party’s protests, I could have properly pointed out the potentially confounding detail.”

  Shit.

  “Point taken, Mr. Robot. Maybe I’ll let you have a vote next time I challenge the lord of the space vampires to a deathmatch.”

  “That would be most appreciated, sir.”

  “What is it?” Rachel asked, taking a crack at manually wiping the bleariness from her eyes. “What are you guys talking about?” She seemed to remember where they were at all at once and sat bolt upright. “Are they here?”

  “Easy, Goldilocks.” Jarek rolled to his feet and stretched his arms overhead. “Someone came and went in the night, but we’re like fifty percent sure they didn’t leave a trap for us. Maybe even sixty, if Al’s feeling cocky today.”

  “My sincerest apologies,” Al said. “Next time I’ll get my act together scan harder, sir. It’s not as if the equipment has technical limit—Oh.”

  Jarek tensed. “What?”

  “Lone ship inbound for the stadium, sir. A fairly small craft. No larger than ours.”

  “Oh.” Jarek traded a somber look with Rachel.

  Double shit.

  Technically Golga’s arrival—assuming it was indeed Golga—was good news. But somehow it didn’t make Jarek want to do the happy dance.

  “Okay.” He hefted the Big Whacker from its hanger on the side of his locker. “Game time, then.”

  He strapped on his sword and gun belt as he had a thousand times before, taking what comfort he could in the familiarity of the process. Then he turned to Rachel, who was checking something on her bullet catcher.

  She met his eyes, looking tense but steady, and Jarek decided he was damn glad she’d called his bluff. As much as he detested inviting her neck to the chopping block beside his, having her here at his side was about the most reassuring thing he could have asked for.

  “Ready?” she asked.

  “Let’s do it.” His lip twitched. “And then we can go save the day.”

  She spared him a long moment’s stare then turned and headed up to the cockpit.

  “Rain check,” he called after her. “Got it.”

  “That ship is setting down in the stadium, sir.”

  “Right. Take us up, Al.”

  Jarek stepped into the cockpit as the ship crested the adjacent buildings and the wide shape of Yankee Stadium came into view. From what he could see through the scuffed, cracked windshield, the stadium was still largely intact but for the caved-in southwestern corner, which had probably been caught in the same blast that had left several of the nearby buildings in ruins.

  Like a lot of structures these days, its walls were coated with a healthy growth of moss and beginning to crumble in places.

  Al pulled the ship to a hovering halt over the worn pavement of the parking structure across the street while they assessed the scene ahead.

  “Always wanted to see a big game here,” Jarek said.

  Rachel gave him a tired smile. “No you didn’t.”

  “No.” He smiled and shook his head. “I really didn’t. How’s it looking, Mr. Robot?”

  “I’m seeing some movement down on the ground level, sir. Looks like reinforcements.”

  “Not exactly unexpected,” Jarek said.

  “Comforting,” Rachel said, popping an earpiece over her left ear. “In case we get separated,” she added, tapping the earpiece.

  “Good call. Al, can you—”

  “I’ve already linked us, sir,” Al said. “I’ll open the channel as needed.”

  “Thanks, Mr. Robot.” He gave Rachel one last questioning look, and she nodded, mouth set in a firm line. “All right, then. Let’s take the field.”

  The ship crept forward with a quiet groan. Rachel half closed her eyes, and he realized she must be scouting with her senses

  They crested the eastern edge of the stadium, just over the scoreboard, and there was the ship—a sleek dark number, built for speed—and a lone figure in front of it with pin points of fire for eyes.

  Zar’Golga.

  Jarek’s stomach churned with apprehension and dread even as a trill of excitement shot through his chest.

  The ship drifted into the stadium.

  Rachel’s eyes snapped open at the same time Al spoke.

  “Oh dear. Not good.” The ship lurched to the left. “Not—”

  A thunderous boom shook the cockpit, and the next thing Jarek knew, he was flying across the cockpit toward Rachel.

  She smacked into the bulkhead ahead of him, and he just managed to get his hands up in time to catch himself before he smashed into her. His outstretched hands left dents on either side of her head.

  “Son of a bitch,” she groaned.

  The ship veered wildly downward, rolling back and forth, console alarms blaring all the while.

  “Starboard motors out,” Al called over the racket. “Stabilization limited.” The rear hatch popped open and began to descend. “Recommend you abandon ship, sir!”

  Jarek gathered himself and steadied Rachel. “Jumping legs, Goldilocks. We gotta bai—”

  The ship bucked, and he slammed a hand into the bulkhead to keep them from spilling over. “Go, go!” he barked, pushing Rachel through doorway to the cabin and stumbling along behind her.

  The ship rocked downward, and Rachel staggered into the cot ahead.

  No time. There was no time.

  “Hold on!” he shouted. Then he scooped her up, took a few running steps, and leapt for the open rear hatch.

  They cleared the ship, and open sky stretched out around them, leaving nothing below them but thin air and the rows of stadium seats rushing by too quickly forty feet below.

  The upward momentum of Jarek’s leap died just as they cleared the seating and made it over the grassy field. Then they were properly falling.

  Jarek was preparing to toss Rachel upward as best he could to buy her an extra second or two when their flight inexplicably slowed. Or maybe not so inexplicably.

  “Jesus Christ, you’re heavy,” Rachel growled against him.

  He could have kissed her. He’d been fully prepared to take a heavy landing for the team, but even with Fela’s significant mechanical aid, the shock of impact wouldn’t have been pretty.

  Instead, they drifted down at a manageable pace and touched down jostled and disoriented but uninjured.

  Jarek drew his sword, scanning the surrounding stadium. A group of dark-clad men were emerging from the tunnels at one side of the field. Back where they’d flown in, a pair of guys were looking down at them from a perch by the scoreboard, one of them holding some manner of rocket launcher.

  “Traitorous bastards shot us down,” Rachel said behind him.

  He was about to commend her on her astute observation when Al cried, “Geronimo!” in his ear.

  He whipped around to see the ship buck drunkenly downward, still cruising forward with considerable velocity. It hit the field with a bone-jarring crash and a wrenching of strained metal and skimmed fifteen yards across the grassy field, bound straight for Zar’Golga and his dark ship.<
br />
  Golga gathered himself and sprang into a ridiculously high leap that carried him over the incoming ship-shaped missile. The raknoth landed twenty yards away from Jarek and Rachel, eyes alive with scarlet fire, and began stalking toward them, not even bothering to turn back as their ship’s prow smashed into his vessel with another sharp crash.

  “Right,” Jarek mumbled, taking in Golga properly.

  The Overlord wore no clothes, his entire body covered instead in the dark forest green scales of his raknoth hide, and he held a giant, gnarly mace leisurely over one shoulder.

  Movement to the right drew Jarek’s attention, and he glanced over to see another half dozen men emerging onto the field, led by their old raknoth pals, Toady and Slender Face.

  Jarek stepped forward to plant himself between Golga and Rachel while she faced Golga’s posse.

  This was bad. But they weren’t dead yet.

  “I’m starting to get the impression you might not plan on playing fair, Golga,” Jarek called.

  The raknoth stopped ten yards from them and studied them with those glowing red eyes, his reptilian expression unclear.

  “You have a strong history of fleeing from our engagements,” Golga said. “If we are to duel”—he hefted the giant club from his shoulder—“I will not have you scampering away from death when it comes.”

  Gulp. Jarek wanted to scoff at Golga’s choice of weapon, but the thing was huge, and the ease with which he was waving it around… How strong was this bastard? It didn’t matter. It was a fight. It was just another fight.

  “And you couldn’t just let us land first?” he called. “Dick move, man. And what gives with the backup army?” He glanced at Rachel. “Mine was a stowaway. What’s your excuse?”

  “They are here to prevent foul play on your end.”

  “Foul play like shooting an arriving party out of the damn sky?”

  “They will not interfere, only prevent the arcanist’s interference as they observe your demise,” Golga said.

  “Oh yeah? And what happens when I kill you? I don’t suppose they’re just gonna say ‘cheers’ and be on their way.”

  Golga bared a few gleaming fangs in what had to be the creepiest grin Jarek had ever seen. “They will observe your demise without interference.”