The Complete Harvesters Series

by Luke R. Mitchell

  Drogan shook his hand free in clear irritation. “Do not touch me, Jarek Slater. And he is not even… KO-ed, as you say.”

  In testament to Drogan’s statement, Minty was staring between the two of them, clearly perplexed by the fact that Drogan wasn’t tearing Jarek’s head off.

  “Okay,” Jarek said. “So no KO. But wouldn’t you say he looks thoroughly… stumped?”

  It was hard to tell what with the lack of pupils and the uniform red glow, but he was pretty sure Drogan rolled his eyes.

  “What is wrong with you?” Minty asked, rubbing at the spot where Drogan had decked him.

  Jarek shrugged. “Hey, even we get bored sometimes. Well, maybe I shouldn’t talk for Stumpy here, but I—”

  “Jarek…”

  The tone of Alaric’s voice made him turn immediately. Four more raknoth stood under the stone arch of the entryway, watching them with crimson eyes. Minty gave a satisfied, hissing chuckle behind them.

  Alaric drifted casually away from the newcomers and toward Jarek and Drogan. “I think our six o’clock is here,” he muttered when he was close enough. Not that the raknoth wouldn’t hear it from across the courtyard anyway.

  Jarek traded an uncertain look with Drogan then gave the four raknoth a wave.

  “Hey there, fellas. I don’t suppose you’d have a minute to talk?”

  If Jarek had felt bad knocking a goon-sized hole in the wall of Zar’Kole’s home earlier, he felt even worse when the raknoth invited them peacefully inside. Kole, it seemed, didn’t share Minty’s aversion to talking before hitting. Lucky them.

  Inside, the abode was eloquent in its simplicity. Wood floors, paper-thin walls, and a nearly complete lack of clutter. Guards eyed them wearily and fingered weapons as they passed. Jarek didn’t need to tell Al to keep his robot eyes peeled in every direction as they settled in to talk with Kole’s four raknoth posted around them.

  “Oh dear,” Al said, speaking quietly in his earpiece. “Do please refrain from… well, being yourself, sir. I don’t like our odds, and Minty back there still looks like he wants to eat you.”

  Jarek didn’t turn to verify Al’s assessment, he knew his companion was right. Drogan was pretty good in a rumble, and Alaric was quick on the draw, but the latter didn’t do them much good against raknoth, and they were heartily outnumbered.

  “Lips sealed,” he murmured.

  “What was that?” Kole asked.

  God, it was creepy how much they heard.

  Jarek willed his faceplate open as a sign of good faith. “Just talking to the voices in my head.”

  “Clever, sir,” Al said quietly.

  He suppressed the urge to tell Al to shove it as Kole considered him for a stretch.

  “You may leave us,” Kole finally said, directing his gaze to each of his raknoth in turn. “Let our guests rest easy knowing they will not be attacked again as long as they do not give us cause.” His gaze lingered on Minty as he said the last part.

  The raknoth left without a word, and Jarek did rest easy—or unclenched, at least.

  Once they were alone, Kole sank to his knees on the thinly-matted floor and sat butt-to-heels, gesturing for Jarek and the others to join him. Drogan sank easily to the floor to mirror Kole’s position. Jarek traded a look with Alaric, and they both sat cross-legged by some unspoken agreement.

  A flicker of amusement played across Kole’s features. The host he occupied had been Japanese and maybe in his late fifties. Jarek was under no delusions that the raknoth wouldn’t rip the life out of him given cause, but for now, he looked kindly enough.

  “You’ve come to warn us about the harvesters,” Kole said once they were all settled. “And to ask for my help in defeating them, if I’m not mistaken.”

  How did he—

  “You heard the messengers call?” Drogan asked. He looked taken aback himself.

  Kole tilted his head back and forth. “Perhaps. Certainly, I felt a troubling disturbance as I dreamed two weeks ago. Meditated, rather,” he added at Drogan’s clear confusion. “Dreamed is a poor choice of words.”

  Drogan nodded, still looking uncertain. “And this disturbance?”

  “At first I thought little of it. The thought continued to nag at me, though, which is why I finally went to speak with our ship today. Our messengers confirmed that it had not been my imagination. They felt it too. Your Zar was capturing messenger scouts, wasn’t he? And now they’ve escaped?”

  Drogan shot Jarek and Alaric a pointed stare. “The nest was compromised.”

  Jarek held up a thumb and forefinger. “We had a tiny bit of a misunderstanding. Lives were threatened. Stumps were made. I think the important takeaway is that we all screwed this pooch together.”

  Kole cocked his head as if picturing such an act.

  “The true point is that we believe the Masters come for us presently,” Drogan said. “And, annoying as some of their numbers may be, I do not see how we can survive without the humans, which leaves us at an impasse.”

  Jarek refrained from mentioning how, speaking of annoying things, he personally thought it was kind of annoying how the raknoth had come to their planet out of the blue and then decided to blow it to smithereens after the humans had thwarted their original plan to feed them to the harvesters, who were now kind of ironically coming to eat all of them together. In the interest of not starting a fight with the only raknoth who hadn’t outright refused to listen to them, the poetic justice alone would have to do.

  Four gold diplomacy stars for Jarek.

  “It was only ever a matter of time,” Kole said. His tone was tranquil, and his gaze distant. “Unfortunate that the lives of our peoples have become so irrevocably intertwined, but so it is. And so we will do what we must.”

  “So… does that mean you’re in?” Jarek asked. “Just like that?”

  Kole smiled, and it wasn’t creepy or predatory or ominous. Just a sad smile. “We have all been ‘in’ since the moment my kin first decided to wreak nuclear havoc on this world and mask our continued existence from the Masters. Truly, my kind have been ‘in’ since the moment the rakul sent us to Earth, and since the moment your own kind decided to try to stop us. This has been centuries in the making, and if it must come to a head now, I will not fight it.”

  So… did that mean he was in? Jarek still wasn’t quite sure.

  “You will fight beside us, then, when the time comes?” Drogan asked.

  “If the time comes. Yes. But first I would speak to the Masters. The messengers in our ship should suffice to reach them. I will commune with the rakul and see if we might not find peace this side of bloodshed.”

  Drogan tensed. “Do you think it wise to contact them before they arrive? If we are wrong—”

  “Do you believe you are?” Kole asked. “Do any of you?”

  Silence.

  “Neither do I,” Kole said. He rose to his feet in a smooth motion. “And even if you were, harvest has always been an inevitability. At worse, we quicken its fall. Either way, I tire of living in fear. Now is the time.”

  Jarek clapped his hands together after a length of hesitant silence. “All right, then. Lucky for us, we brought our hiking boots. Let’s do it.”

  Kole gave a small shake of his head. “It is almost certainly better if I speak with the rakul alone. You should continue to rally what forces you can.”

  Coming from most people—or raknoth—that probably would’ve put Jarek’s back-stab alarm at blazing conflagration status. There was something about Kole, though. Jarek didn’t trust the raknoth, not by a long shot. Jarek didn’t trust anyone that wasn’t Al or Pryce. Rachel might be getting dangerously close to worming her way onto that list as well, but sure as shit not Zar’Kole. Still, Jarek didn’t get the feeling that Kole was actively trying to screw them over.

  But you never really knew until you knew.

  “It would help if we had your endorsement,” Drogan said. “Krogoth’s ascent by challenge to Zar has not been well accepted by
all.”

  Kole raised a hand for pause. “Krogoth slew Golga?”

  “Technically, I’d say our people did most of the work,” Jarek said, “but Krogoth definitely finished it.”

  “Golga would not fight the Masters,” Drogan said. “He had to be removed if we had any hope of surviving.”

  Kole’s hand slowly lowered. “I believe that. Golga was powerful. Had he not been sent here with us, he might have soon joined the ranks of the Kul. Very well. I will send an envoy with you to represent my commitment to standing with those who would fight for survival. Lietha.”

  Their old pal Minty stepped into the room with barely a moment’s pause. “Master, please do not—”

  Kole silenced his underling with a raised hand. “It should not be for long. You heard everything?”

  Minty—or Lietha, apparently—hung his head. “Yes, my Zar.”

  “Then you will be my voice in this expedition for now. Go with Al’Drogan and see to it that we are ready should the worse happen. If peace cannot be found, I will join you soon.”

  Lietha nodded, pulsing crimson eyes held toward the floor.

  Drogan rose to his feet and bowed. Jarek and Alaric followed suit, after a fashion.

  “I thank you, Zar’Kole,” Drogan said. “And should it come to pass, I will be honored to fight by your side.”

  Kole inclined his head, bidding them farewell.

  Jarek paused at the door. “Do you really believe there’s a chance? For peace, I mean.”

  Kole was silent for several seconds, then he gave his head a small shake to confirm what his wistful expression already said.

  Jarek swallowed, gave Kole a silent nod, and turned to follow the others.

  At least they’d have the Zar on their side when the shit hit, right?

  Maybe. But would it even matter?

  On paper, the day might have been a victory, but somehow, as they headed back to the ship, Jarek couldn’t seem to find anything other than cold dread in his chest.

  3

  Rachel’s head continued on its shaking swivel as if by its own free will.

  “I just don’t get it.”

  She looked around at the others, searching for some confirmation that she had not in fact slipped into some bizarre reality where this all made perfect sense. “How the hell is Jarek the only one who got a yes?”

  They were back in Newark, in the spacious workshop of Jay Pryce, tinkerer extraordinaire, celebrating the end of the raknoth-recruiting world tour.

  “Whoa!” Jarek cried from above. He and Pryce appeared at the top of the spiral staircase in the corner, descending with a pair of wooden crates. “Why’s that a surprise? You of all people know my charms are irresistible!”

  Rachel snorted and rolled her eyes, then immediately regretted it when the Enochians shot her knowing grins.

  Jesus. One kiss and suddenly she had to micromanage every little movement to avoid “sending signals.” She could almost hear their thoughts. Oh, was that a lingering gaze? Oh, was Rachel deflecting because she secretly wanted it?

  It was the end of times, and their fearless group of world-class fighters had all decided to go back to grade school.

  Jarek wasn’t helping with his constant not-so-subtle references to the kiss they’d shared in the tight hallways of Resistance HQ a couple weeks ago, just before the shit had well and truly hit.

  She’d made it clear enough that he should just drop it and focus on more important things, like not dying. Part of her even wanted him to listen. The other part…

  Wasn’t important right now, she reminded herself. Because if there was anyone here she needed to get alone in a quiet room tonight, it was most certainly Alton Parker, who was finally here within her reach after weeks of evasive bullshit.

  She shot a furtive glance at the raknoth and—

  Oh god. Was everyone still waiting for her to say something?

  “Whatcha got there?” she asked as Jarek and Pryce reached the bottom of the steps with their crates.

  Nice one. Smooth as a raknoth hide.

  What they had there turned out to be booze. A veritable horde of it—beers and whiskeys, all home-brewed by Pryce, of course. It was easy enough to see from the eclectic mix of items in the shop around them that Pryce lived for learning, poking, prodding, and otherwise finagling his way through the inner workings of the natural world. Given his and Jarek’s shared love for alcohol, it made sense that home brewing and distilling had made their way high on the list of Pryce’s favorite hobbies.

  Rachel traded a hesitant look with Lea. She’d always had a bit of an aversion to anything capable of muddling her senses, especially when she had important business to tend to. The recently added condition that the fury of a bunch of intergalactic conquerors might come falling down on their heads at any minute paradoxically made her both crave a drink and fear it. But if there was any place in the world that was safe to kick up her boots, it was probably here. And if said important business, namely a firm talk with a blood-sucking alien, was going to happen, god knew she could probably use a touch of the liquid courage.

  So she moved in to join the others in eagerly inspecting the stash Pryce and Jarek had deposited on the worktable. All of the others except Haldin, Elise, and Johnny, that is.

  The three young Enochians were eyeing the crates uncertainly.

  “You guys had alcohol on Enochia, right?” Rachel asked.

  The words sounded stupid as soon as they’d left her mouth. Of course they had. It wasn’t like basic chemistry ceased to exist outside the boundaries of Earth.

  “Alco-huh?” Johnny said. “We just had something we called crack. Fun stuff. Kids loved it.”

  “He’s messing with you,” Hal said. “Of course we had alcohol… You guys take it rectally too, right?”

  “Oh, boys…” Elise smiled at Rachel. “There’s plenty of the stuff on Enochia, but we sheltered youths haven’t ever really had any of it.”

  “Speak for yourself, lady,” Johnny said. “You don’t know where I’ve been.”

  “You’re right,” Elise said. “I always heard those Legion parties were out of this world.”

  “I think you mean out of that world,” Johnny said.

  Elise stuck her tongue out at him.

  Jarek distributed mismatched glasses and cups across the table, shaking his head all the while.

  Rachel’s eyes drifted, as they seemed to every time she saw him now, to the dark red lines running diagonally across Jarek’s face—not quite scars yet, but not far off. He caught her staring, and she averted her gaze, heat rushing to her face. Jarek had gone out of his way to make it known that the wounds didn’t bother him and were, in fact, pretty damn badass.

  She was pretty sure it was proof that he actually felt the exact opposite, and while she found the wounds more mesmerizing than hideous, she’d done her best to avoid staring. Whatever he might say, Jarek Slater was every bit as human as the rest of them, with all the self-conscious insecurities that entailed. Or so she told herself.

  “Never had alcohol…” Jarek was saying, still gently shaking his head. “Yeesh!”

  “I agree,” Al called from Fela’s collapsed form over by the shelves. “Strutting around with those unreasonably healthy livers. The gall of them.”

  “Yeah, yeah, Mr. Robot. Like liver disease is really what’s gonna get any of us.”

  Jarek looked like he wanted to take the words back as soon as he said them. But they were out now, and the room went uncomfortably quiet as the weight settled over them. Because he was right.

  Rachel had seen by proxy the raw power of a single rakul, and they were looking at as many as a dozen of them on their hands. Whether any of them wanted to admit it or not, it was a real possibility none of them would—

  Jarek slapped a hand to the table hard enough to jolt them out of their respective funks. “Right then! Let’s drink some drugs, kids!” He clapped a hand to Pryce’s shoulder. “A round for the house on me!”


  “I suppose I’ll just throw it on your tab then,” Pryce muttered, but he was smiling as he opened a bottle of whiskey and began to pour.

  “Oh, you old rapscallion, you,” Jarek said, taking glasses of amber liquid from Pryce and passing them out to the others. “What about you, Alton? Want one?”

  Rachel’s heart quickened at Alton’s name.

  After this drink. They’d toast, they’d drink, and she’d politely ask him for a word. No problem.

  Alton gave a shrug that was more yes than no, and Jarek handed him a filled glass.

  “Good on you, man.” Jarek shook his head. “Alaric pulled the ol’ commander duty card on us, and when I asked Stumpy and that Lietha dude if they wanted to partake in this team-building exercise, they were all, ‘We do not imbibe the foul liquid, human.’”

  “Interesting words from people who drink human blood to survive,” Haldin said, followed in short order by an apologetic glance at Alton.

  “Most of my kind are not particularly interested in or well equipped for what humans think of as friendship,” Alton said, not seeming to particularly mind the jab. “We rarely socialize outside of our own clans. And as for the ‘foul liquid,’ I happen to enjoy the taste of it at times, but it has little effect on my physiology. We are perfectly capable of synthesizing our own pharmaceutical aids internally should the desire rise.”

  “Damn,” Jarek said. “There’s a skill I wouldn’t mind having.”

  “Maker bless your boring human body, sir,” Al said, this time from Jarek’s comm.

  Once everyone had received a glass, they all raised their drinks in cheers, a custom that turned out to be familiar to the Enochians as well.

  “To saving the world, I guess,” Jarek said.

  “No pressure,” Johnny said.

  Rachel clinked her glass to Jarek’s, and others all piled in.

  “Cheers.”

  Everyone drank. Franco, Lea, and Jarek set to clapping Pryce on the back and clamoring about how fantastic the whiskey was. Phineas and Alton sipped their drinks stoically. The rest of the Enochians’ reactions mostly involved strong grimaces and sputtering coughs.