The Complete Harvesters Series

by Luke R. Mitchell

  She kept her eyes front and center as they made their way through the base, engaging neither the accusing stares nor the friendly hellos they got from the few Resistance members who seemed to maybe not resent them for breathing.

  When they made it to Michael’s room, he was sitting on his twin-sized bed, elbows resting on his knees and face buried in his hands. It struck her how much thinner he looked these days than he had even a month or two earlier. The thought only fed the angry flames building deep down.

  Rachel was only a little surprised to see Lea’s mother, Commander Stacy Daniels, still with him, sitting quietly in the corner of the small room.

  Rachel went straight to Michael, sat down beside him on the bed, and draped an arm across his broad shoulders. Lea went to hug her mother, and the two talked quietly. Jarek hovered back outside the doorway to give Rachel and Michael the pretense of privacy.

  “Hey, Spongehead,” Rachel said softly, reaching up to rub the short but puffy sprigs of Michael’s hair.

  His dark skin looked ashen, and when he looked at her, the whites of his eyes were bloodshot.

  “Rachel,” he said slowly, as if it had taken him more than an instant to recognize her. He glanced at Commander Daniels. “I told them they didn’t need to bother you every time this happens.”

  “And I told them they’d better. You’re never a bother, Spongehead.”

  He frowned and sniffed the air. “You’ve been drinking.”

  “Just celebrating a safe return. It doesn’t matter. This is more important.”

  Michael’s mouth formed a humorless smile. She rested her head against his shoulder and looped her arms around one of his, wishing she had something better to say.

  “What’s happening to me, Rache?” he asked after a length of silence, his voice almost a whisper.

  It broke her heart to see him like this, so tired and frail. And so completely beyond her ability to help.

  She squeezed his arm and leaned back to fix him with a serious look. “I don’t know. But I’m going to figure out how to fix it, even if it means going out there and stomping the floor with every one of these rakul bastards until there’s no one left to beam bad vibes your way. I promise.”

  “I hear that,” Jarek said, stepping into the room. “Even brought my stomping boots to help.”

  This time, Michael’s smile was a bit more sincere. Especially when Lea came over to give him a hug. When they pulled apart, though, Michael wasted no time in sinking wearily back to the bed.

  “Do you want me to tell them what you saw?” Commander Daniels asked.

  Michael gave a bitter smile. “I think I can still manage that much, at least.” He looked around at them uncertainly. “I don’t know much. The… visions, or whatever they are, are really intense when they’re happening, but I never seem to remember more than a few random scraps once they pass.”

  Lea rested a hand on his shoulder.

  “Hey, we’ve all been there, Mikey,” Jarek said.

  Rachel shot him her best shush look and squeezed Michael’s forearm in support.

  “I remember a room,” he said after a while. “I think it might have been a raknoth ship, kind of like the one the Enochians came in.”

  “Was there anything else?” Rachel asked softly.

  Michael nodded. “Raknoth. There were raknoth. Three of them, I think. And there was this voice, this terrible voice.”

  “What did it say?” Lea asked.

  “Traitors.” Michael shuddered. “I think they’re getting close. The rakul, I mean. I don’t know how to explain it, but I have this feeling.”

  Rachel traded a concerned glance with Lea and wrapped her arm back around Michael. “We’ll be ready. We’re going to figure this out.”

  If only she’d felt half as confident as her words sounded.

  Michael looked less than convinced, but he didn’t argue. “What Alton told you about my exposure leaving me, uh, marked… Did he say anything about what that would mean when the rakul came?”

  Rachel was pretty sure she managed to avoid visibly bristling at the mention of Alton. Inside, it was a different story, but she did her best to relax and remind herself that Michael came before the other stuff.

  “He said you might hear more than you wanna hear. He didn’t seem very certain about it, though. Why do you ask?”

  “I, uh…” He shook his head. “I don’t know. I just have this feeling like I’m connected to the rakul somehow, like I’m seeing these snippets straight from them.”

  “I think,” said a strong voice from the hallway, “that Michael Carver is correct.”

  They all whipped around to see a middle-aged man with sandy blond hair step into the room. Only it was no man at all, Rachel realized with a jolt of alarm. It was Al’Drogan, playing at being human, just like Alton Parker always did outside of battle. The physical deception was probably the only reason the Resistance soldiers on his flanks were only fidgeting restlessly with their weapons instead of training them on the back of the raknoth’s head.

  Alaric was just behind Drogan, along with a Japanese man that a quick mental sweep confirmed was, like Drogan, also not actually a man. It must have been the raknoth Zar’Kole had sent back with Jarek—Lietha, that was it.

  “Hey, buddy,” Jarek said to Drogan. “What brings your stumps ’round here?”

  It was a damned good question. “Allies” or not, the raknoth presence on base just begged for the slipping of itchy trigger fingers. And the way Rachel was feeling right now, she couldn’t guarantee it wouldn’t be her finger—or mind, at least—that did the slipping.

  “Zar’Krogoth asked to stay informed of Michael’s… episodes,” Daniels said behind them.

  “He neglected to mention he’d be sending his second in command by when we did so,” Alaric said, pushing past Drogan and scooting in to check on Michael.

  “And a call wouldn’t do?” Rachel asked.

  “Not that we’re not thrilled to see you two and all,” Jarek added, “but…” He nodded out to the hall where four shotgun-toting Resistance soldiers were watching the raknoth with all the laxity of cats in a dog kennel.

  The raknoth paid the soldiers no mind.

  “We wished to hear Michael Carver’s accounting in person,” Drogan said.

  He took a step toward them to allow Lietha entry into the too-cramped room. That made Rachel tense enough on its own. Then she caught the slightest flicker of red in Drogan’s eyes, and it registered in a flash exactly why he’d come here.

  “No.” She stood and planted herself between Michael and Drogan. “You’re not rooting around in my brother’s head. Fuck that.”

  Jarek glanced between her and Drogan, then understanding dawned. “Ah. Stumpy, you tricky old bastard.”

  It was like the air in the room had thickened with strained silence made corporeal. Outside, the soldiers had somehow managed to tense harder.

  “We must inspect what Michael Carver has learned about the rakul,” Drogan said.

  The raknoth stepped closer, and this time Jarek barred his way with a raised hand before Rachel could grab her staff and tell the raknoth precisely what he was free to inspect.

  “Easy, Stumpy,” Jarek said, shooting a glance back at Rachel. “You don’t wanna go sticking that mind of yours anywhere near Mikey without asking nicely first.”

  “And the answer is no, by the way,” Rachel said.

  She plucked her staff from the side of the bed. None of them could afford for this to break into a fight, but she wasn’t about to step aside and let Drogan have free reign of her brother, even if Michael’s head was too well protected for it to matter.

  “If you have questions, fine,” she said. “But keep your mind to yourself.”

  Drogan took on the expression of a parent explaining why they in fact couldn’t spend all day playing and eating treats. “His unconscious mind might well hold information he is unable to access himself.”

  “His unconscious mind is in no condition
to have anyone poking around in it,” Rachel said. “And he’s glyphed against telepathy six ways to Sunday anyways.”

  “Not so tight as to repel the messengers, it would seem,” Drogan said.

  The son of a bitch.

  “Wrong tree, dude,” Jarek said. “Wrong tree.”

  Behind Drogan’s shoulder, Lietha frowned. “What tree? Does the human always talk like this?”

  “Incessantly,” Drogan said.

  Jarek put a hand to his chest. “I doth resent that. And for the record, calling people things like ‘the human’ isn’t winning you any friendship points, Minty. Would it kill you to learn our sad little names?”

  Lietha’s eyes were smoldering embers as he pointed. “That one is Michael Carver.”

  Jarek pointed back. “Hey! Better. If you’re really feeling funky you could even just call him Michael. Or Mikey. He loves Mikey. Tell them, Mik—”

  “Merciful void, enough,” Drogan said. “Very well. We will settle for hearing Mikey’s accounting for now.”

  Jarek grinned appreciatively.

  Rachel could have cursed him and his never-ending little games just then, but at least Drogan seemed to have dropped his mission to prod Michael’s mind for now. She even managed to start breathing again as Michael began catching Drogan and Lietha up to speed on what he’d seen.

  When Michael mentioned the three raknoth aboard the ship, Drogan’s already stiff posture tightened further.

  “What else?” Drogan asked.

  Michael shook his head. “Not much aside from the voice. I think it was calling the raknoth traitors, and it kind of seems like it was coming from my point of view, but… I don’t know. It’s all pretty hazy.”

  The fire was waking in Drogan’s eyes. “Describe this voice.”

  “It was kind of like a bunch of whispers all mashed together into one. It was creepy.”

  “And there was nothing more? No sense of timing or location? No mention of any others?”

  “Things kind of flashed out at the end.” Michael glanced at Commander Daniels. “That must’ve been when my episode got violent here. I think whoever was talking might have killed those raknoth.”

  “I do not doubt it,” Drogan said. He traded a short look with Lietha. “And I believe we may have no need of delving into Mikey’s mind after all.”

  Apparently some part of Michael’s description had rung a bell for the raknoth—and not a happy one, from the sound of it.

  “What did we miss?” Rachel asked.

  Drogan looked hesitantly around the room. “Three of our own clan fled the planet with our only functioning ship only days ago.”

  “Funny,” Alaric said, “that seems like just the kind of thing you might think to report to your allies during a time of war.”

  “It was an internal affair,” Drogan said. “Let us not pretend either one of our peoples want this alliance. The illusion of dissension in our ranks would not help matters.”

  “If Krogoth can’t keep his own people in check,” Commander Daniels said, “the dissension isn’t an illusion.”

  “Do not speak to me of order and discipline, human.”

  Gun hands tensed. Nostrils flared.

  Rachel focused her will, preparing to channel energy from her batteries if need be.

  “Okay!” Jarek cried, spreading his hands between the two parties as wide as he could in the cramped room. “I’m hearing a lot of us and them language, guys. Let’s all remember that this here is a we.” He held up a finger. “We are all gonna die bloody together if we don’t get our shit together. Yeah?”

  “I might prefer the release of death to another minute of your rambling,” Drogan said.

  “Oh shit. Was that…” Jarek looked around the room. “Was that a zing, Stumpy?” He extended a fist to the raknoth. “Look at you, slummin’ it with the humans. Put it there, buddy.”

  “Gah.” Drogan turned for the door. “Come, Lietha. Let us escape this buffoonery and report our findings.” He glanced back at the commanders. “We should begin final preparations. If the deserters were attacked tonight—”

  “That puts the rakul only a couple days out,” Alaric said. “Which sorta leads us back to the ‘need to know’ nature of that information.”

  That exact question had been bubbling on the tip of Rachel’s tongue before the pissing contest had started. She didn’t have a clue how fast or far those raknoth could have fled in a couple of days, but it stood to reason that the rakul would be able to cover the same distance as fast, if not faster.

  Drogan dipped his head. “It is possible. We must be ready. And soon.”

  Her stomach sank. They weren’t ready. Not even close.

  Most of their “allies” were still scattered about the world, unconvinced of the coming threat. They barely even had a plan outside of building some heavy duty traps and throwing every bullet, blade, and claw they could at the bastards when they showed up.

  And what would happen to Michael as the rakul closed in? Would his attacks grow more frequent? More violent?

  “Drogan,” Rachel said. “Is there any other way we can keep the rakul out of Michael’s head?”

  Drogan considered that. “I do not see how we might fix the chinks the messengers have found in his barriers when neither you nor I can see them. The messengers will preferentially flow toward those familiar to their kind, and given our recent hiding and Mikey’s extreme exposure, he is likely the foremost on that list.”

  “Do they know I’m seeing these things?” Michael asked.

  “I cannot say for certain, but it is possible they do not.” Drogan’s nostrils worked at the air as he thought. “Maybe even likely, considering you have no innate telepathic ability. I do not expect the rakul will make much use of the messengers once they reach the planet, but your insights might still grant us some advantage.”

  “And what if it goes the other way?” Rachel said. “What if the rakul do know and they use him like a nav pin? What if they deliberately trick him to lead us into a trap? We need to stop this connection. How do we do that?”

  “If it becomes problematic,” Lietha said, “we kill him.”

  His words carried all the weight of someone explaining they might need to spray down a bothersome hornets’ nest. For a few seconds, Rachel was almost too surprised at the raw callousness of it to even be outraged.

  “What?” Lietha said to whatever look Drogan gave him. “Mikey cannot receive these visions if—”

  Drogan silenced his partner with a sharp shake of his head.

  Somehow, it didn’t exactly convince Rachel to drop the energy she’d already reached for, nor did it particularly put her at ease or calm the fire in her chest when Drogan turned back to her, his eyes pulsing crimson fire.

  “We slay the rakul,” he said, his expression composed and his tone matter-of-fact. “All of them.”

  6

  Jarek paused at the bottom of the ship’s ramp, frowned up at the bright morning sun, and shot a wistful glance back at Fela’s compact form. “Did I mention I’ve got a bad feeling about this?”

  “Oh really, sir,” Al said in his earpiece. “What’s the worst that could happen?”

  “Zombies, Al.” Jarek shook his head and set off for HQ. “It’s always zombies.”

  “Ah, of course, sir. How could I possibly overlook such a distinct threat?”

  Jarek refrained from answering as he passed a few Resistance boys with a neutral nod, then decided against saying anything at all. He didn’t need Al scrubbing through his vocal patterns and discerning just how anxious he was at leaving Fela behind for the first time in weeks. Of course, Al would just pick up on his irregular silence instead now.

  Perks of having a robot for a friend.

  Anxiety aside, though, if he was actually going to make a point of “showing trust” as Al kept putting it—or doing the meat-suit strut, as Jarek preferred—he might as well avoid looking like the guy who walked around cackling with the voice in his head.

/>   They wouldn’t want anyone to go thinking he was crazy, would they?

  “I can be there inside of two minutes, sir,” Al said, unbidden.

  Apparently Jarek’s nerves were shining through. Or maybe Mr. Robot was a bit nervous himself as Jarek moved deeper into the HQ traffic, which was escalating with the morning sun—more and more troops, new recruits, and helping hands getting to the day’s work expanding the base above ground and fortifying the perimeter.

  “Why do I feel like a kid whose overbearing mom just dropped him off for his first day at high school?”

  “Why am I always the mom in your analogies?”

  “Because you’re a total mom-bot,” Jarek said, earning himself a confused frown from a woman who was busy with a tablet full of what looked like base floor plans. He found an easy grin, and she pursed her lips and went back to her tablet.

  “That said,” he mumbled, openly meeting one of the many stares that followed him across the lot, “never hurts to have a codeword. Just in case.”

  “Might I suggest ‘zombies,’ sir?”

  “Har har, Mr. Robot.”

  The guards at the new main entrance gave him the thorough stern-eyes up and down but waved him on.

  “This is an important step, sir,” Al said.

  “No kidding.” Jarek stepped through the doorway and started down the stairs to the HQ common room. “A whole flight of ‘em, really. Can’t help but notice they’re all leading down.”

  “If we’re serious about whipping this team into shape,” Al said, ignoring his comment, “we need to be a part of it. Remind them there’s a human inside the suit. This will all go a lot smoother if they accept you as one of their own.”

  Jarek reached the bustling common room and looked around. “Our old pals the Iron Eagles knew too damn well there was a human inside the suit. Remember how that turned out?”

  “Only too well, sir. Though I do seem to recall a cool voice of reason telling you to be careful back then. And perhaps it’s simply the second coming of the apocalypse speaking, but, for what it’s worth, that voice believes this time could be different. Let them be your friends, sir.”