Part of him couldn’t help but tense in preparation to try to salvage the fall—not to mention his femurs and other assorted, currently intact pieces—with a haphazard roll.
He refrained, trusting in Rachel, who was watching him just below with a deeply furrowed brow.
Mercifully, in the final second of the fall, he felt it—the telekinetic support harness that was simply there one moment and yanking up on his tightly clenched, armored backside like giant air brakes the next.
Of notable impressiveness was the way he was able to land beside Rachel from the four story drop with barely a bend to his knees. Of exceptional badassery was the sonorous boom that split the air around them as he did so, easily on par with a good thunderclap.
Rachel had promised one better than simply catching him, and she’d delivered.
A second later, Drogan completed the theatrics when he slammed down beside them with a sound of pulverized pavement Jarek felt through his own feet and knees. The raknoth was still holding Taga’s head.
Dramatic entrance achieved, then.
Jarek stood slowly, brandished his deactivated sword through a pair of tight arcs, and strapped it to his back, looking around at the silent armies of Resistance troops and disturbingly still civilians that surrounded them. The sprawling crowd seemed caught between breaths, the Resistance troops watching them intently, waiting to see what they’d do, and the all-too-recently violent civilians simply gazing distantly, like robots awaiting further direction from their remaining raknoth overlords, who mostly lurked on the high ground, watching Drogan, Rachel, and Jarek with burning red eyes.
“Right then…” Jarek said, speaking loudly enough to be heard for some distance in the tense silence gripping the street. “Now, normally, this would be the part where I’d be tempted to ask why we can’t all just get along here.”
Judging from the immediate rustles and the outpouring of verbal discontent, that idea was about as popular as scrotum-kick Sundays on both sides.
“But!” Jarek cried, employing Fela’s speakers to boost his voice to loudspeaker status. He raised his hands for peace in the momentary lull in outraged noises. “But, I think it’s safe to say that’s abso-fucking-lutely out of the picture for this crowd right now.”
“Goddamn right it is!” one of the Resistance women shouted, to several hearty agreements and hell yeahs.
Jarek hooked a thumb in their direction, mind searching frantically for the right words. “Right. So the question I’ll ask you all instead is…”
Is what?
The three raknoth he could see in the crowd shifted impatiently, red eyes hungry. To his left, several Resistance troops made similar movements.
This armistice would break at any moment.
Christ, what had he been thinking, throwing himself down between two armies, expecting to just talk them all out of a crisis? When had he ever talked anyone out of anything?
He glanced back and found Alaric watching him with an unreadable expression, probably wondering the same damn thing. Nevertheless, the wiry commander cocked his head and gave a roll of his fingers, suggesting Jarek figure it out all the same—and sooner than later.
So Jarek raised his hands to the crowd in a querying gesture and went with the question in his mind.
“Do you all wanna die? Or just most of you?”
Growls and mutters from left and right promptly indicated that the only person the crowd might unanimously wish death for at the moment was Jarek himself.
Beside him, Drogan directed a low but impressive growl at his kin that sounded more or less like raknoth speak for shut the hell up.
“We all know what’s coming after Kul’Gada,” Jarek called. “And even if we survive today, we know what’s in store for us when they get here, whether you’re mortal or not.” He turned more directly toward the nearest enemy raknoth and pointed at Taga’s severed head, still hanging from Drogan’s hand. “Whatever this guy told you, I’m betting most of you realize that somewhere deep down in your scaly little hearts.”
For a long moment, silence prevailed.
Then the raknoth Jarek had addressed snarled and stepped forward, looking around at his kin. “Cursed void, are any of you truly listening to a human where the masters are concer—”
Taga’s severed head struck the speaker square in the temple. He shook his head and looked down at the morbid missile in shock, then rounded back toward them with a furious roar.
Drogan’s counter roar was louder and, if Jarek’s judgment was reliable, several notches higher on the pants-wetting scale.
“These two humans have survived direct combat with one of the Kul,” Drogan called. “As have I. And I tell you all now, regardless of what Kul’Gada has promised, the masters will not forgive our deception. They will not stop until every sentient life on this planet has been obliterated.”
The raknoth looked at each other uncertainly. Considering?
“They’re only coming here because of you!”
The shout came from the Resistance ranks, a sharp stomp to the inkling of hope that had teased at Jarek’s chest. Several more followed it, emboldened by their fellow soldier’s courage.
“You brought this shit to our doorstep!”
“—ruined our planet!”
“—killed my family!”
“Why the fuck should we trust you?”
It spread like a flash fire of malicious will, weapon grips and trigger fingers tightening throughout the Resistance ranks, soldiers shifting for a fight, some taking aim.
Across from them, raknoth growls rumbled through the street, and several of the enthralled civilians were tensing out of their vacant stupors, baring teeth and wild eyes.
“Hey!” Jarek called, raising hands for order.
But no one was listening now. The violence was back in the air, simmering, ready to boil over. Jarek looked to Alaric in desperation.
The commander met his gaze, the slightest arch creeping over Alaric’s brow, as if to say, Well? What’s next, genius?
Jarek knew better than to think this was some kind of game to the Resistance commander. There was only so far Alaric could yank the crowd sentiment with his authority. His hands were tied, or more tied than Jarek’s at least.
We need leaders, Alaric had said on that night in medical. Ones who can inspire by example, who look before they leap and actually give half a rat’s ass about the men and women fighting beside them.
So maybe looking before he leapt wasn’t Jarek’s strong suit. That was clear enough. And maybe he didn’t know any of these men and women well enough to give that rat’s ass about them in any meaningful way beyond a general desire to see them make it through this mess.
But he could be an example—could show them just how desperately they were already clinging to the fringes of survival, standing here fighting amongst themselves while Gada marched to destroy their only real allies.
“Fine,” Jarek said, more to himself than anyone else.
He glanced between the two groups, a light stone’s throw from erupting back into full-on battle. He waited to recognize his hare-brained inspiration for the blatantly obvious insanity it was.
But there was nothing else. No more time.
“Fine!”
Jarek yelled the word this time, loud enough to buy a moment’s attention.
Now or never.
They could accept that they were all in this together, lower their weapons, and start marching for the real enemy side-by-side, or they could all die—maybe not today, but soon. Those were the only options.
Together, they had a fighting chance.
Fighting amongst themselves, they were already dead.
So, with a careful thought, he sent Fela the command to convince them all the only way he could think to.
“Sir…” Al said quietly, no doubt sensing his intention.
He said nothing, only held the command in mind.
And with a series of pops, clicks, and whirs, Fela snapped open, and Ja
rek stepped out onto the battlefield, butt-ass naked.
Judging by the sea of surprised murmurs and poorly covered laughs rippling through the Resistance army, and the single cry of, “What the fuck, dude?” that was one way to hold a crowd’s attention. Even some of the raknoth looked surprised, and a couple amused.
Jarek’s idea of keeping his hands clutched protectively over his manhood lasted all of two seconds before it struck him that any show of humility or decency was probably well beyond concern at that point. So he raised his hands high and bared it all for anyone who cared to look.
“There you go!” he cried. “No more suit.” He gestured to the Resistance. “You wanna shoot my stupid ass?” Then to the raknoth. “You wanna tear my throat out and drink the blood of this presumptuous raknoth killer?”
He thrust his hands and face skyward. “DO IT, MOTHERFUCKERS!”
It took all of his willpower to stand there like that, eyes closed, utterly vulnerable and unable to see any of the thousand potential threats coming. Some corner of his mind pointed out that Fela was still nearby and that Rachel would probably protect him if anyone took him up on his generous offer, but neither of those things really offset the feeling of dangling loose right between two pissed off armies.
When he tilted his head back down and allowed himself to look again, though, they were watching him, some curious, some clearly of the mind that he’d lost every iota of sanity he’d ever been graced with.
He nodded, feeding on their disbelief, willing them to see his conviction. “That’s right! Put me out of my misery now, because I’m willing to bet my life on the fact that if we don’t get our shit together and get up to Camp Krogoth right now, we’re all gonna be dead within the week anyway.”
The raknoth watched in silent stillness, whatever surprise and amusement had been on their reptilian features fading to neutral thoughtfulness.
On the other side, Jarek saw some of that thoughtfulness mirrored in the Resistance ranks, albeit with a good deal more skepticism.
“How are we ever supposed to trust them after this shit?” someone finally called from the Resistance line. “After everything they’ve done?”
That was the question, wasn’t it?
He should’ve taken heart that, for the first time in the tense standstill, someone at least seemed to be asking it with a genuine tone rather than a rhetorical one—that clearly neither side truly wanted this fight.
But what answer could he possibly give?
If survival wasn’t enough, what else was there?
If he’d known the answer to that question, he and Rachel wouldn’t have ended up in rough waters in the first place.
But apparently that was Rachel’s cue, because, before Jarek could even try to keep the momentum going, she was standing there next to his pasty nakedness, and some of those expectant eyes were starting to shift from him to her.
“We’ll trust them by remembering the actions of their people aren’t always their own,” she called.
The sound of crumbling brick caught the assembly’s attention. Jarek turned to see Alton Parker hop down to the street from a large hole in the wall of a nearby building, an odd limp in his step and a wary look in his eyes as he glanced at the equally battered raknoth who emerged beside him.
The minute nod Alton gave Rachel was odd enough, but Jarek was shocked when she solemnly returned the gesture.
Apparently he’d missed something between the two of them.
“We’ll trust them by understanding that none of this violence was bred in a vacuum,” Rachel continued. “That we humans took our shots too before all of this, before the Catastrophe.”
The truth about the blood curse the humans had unleashed on the raknoth—or at least an approximate version of it—had circulated rapidly through HQ following the battle with Zar’Golga’s forces weeks ago but had been met by heavy skepticism by most.
For that reason, Jarek wasn’t overly surprised when calls of bullshit and raknoth lies lit the crowded street.
“Why should we believe any of that blood virus crap?” someone shouted from near the front of the line—Rodgers, Jarek realized with a sinking stomach as he followed the voice.
Only it wasn’t open scorn on the Resistance fighter’s bulldog face, as Jarek had expected, but uncertainty—his eyes flicking back and forth between Rachel and Jarek as if now searching for some reason not to believe them.
That look seemed to be spreading through the crowd. And, judging from the tension on Rachel’s face, she was preparing herself to give them their reason.
“Because it was my mom who made that virus,” she finally called.
Anyone who heard the waver in her voice would have had a hard time believing it to be a lie. Jarek had the impression she felt nearly as naked in that moment as he actually was.
She visibly forced down a swallow before continuing.
“She was trying to do a good thing for the world. Was trying to save us all. But she was wrong. And the raknoth who decided to pull the trigger on Earth fifteen years ago were sure as hell wrong too. Mistakes were made. Big mistakes. On both sides. And we can all keep blaming each other and holding onto this negative shit until the rakul are picking our bones. Or we can suck it up and remember that we’re all in this together, whether we like it or not.”
She shook her head, catching her breath as the crowd watched, waiting, hanging on her words with uncertain looks.
“I won’t tell anyone they should forget the past. I know I sure as hell won’t. But if you don’t wanna die right alongside everyone you know and love, we need to stop letting that past rule our lives. We can’t change it. But we can try to do better.”
For a long while, the street was quiet but for the scuffs and rustles of the Resistance ranks shifting and exchanging questioning looks and whispered comments.
The uncloaked civilian army stood as still and vigilant as the red-eyed statues of their raknoth commanders.
Jarek barely dared to breathe for fear of ruining what tenuous peace seemed to be fighting its way to life between them. He didn’t even want to hope at this point.
Then the closest of the vacant civilians began to stir and look around in concerned disorientation. It started slowly, but soon enough, hundreds were coming to their senses, and several of the raknoth were shifting from their scaly battle modes back to their human appearance, red eyes dimming.
“Despite our duty to obey,” called the raknoth Drogan had nailed with the late Zar’s severed head. “There are several among us who did not agree with Zar’Taga’s decision to trust Kul’Gada. If you truly speak in earnest, we will agree to end this conflict and depart for Zar’Krogoth’s battlements as your allies in this fight.”
Maybe the raknoth had already held their own telepathic council, but if any of them felt otherwise, they didn’t say it.
The bigger question was whether the men and women at Jarek’s back would choose to accept their word—or their presence as allies, for that matter. The spreading sounds of the civilians’ pained awakenings didn’t exactly help matters.
But then Alaric strode out to join Rachel, Jarek, and Drogan in the small clearing that had formed around them.
“We agree to cease hostilities,” he called. “Once these people are free from your influence, with the guarantee they’ll stay that way, we’ll move north to join the fight.”
The raknoth who appeared to have asserted himself as clan leader looked a shade irritated by Alaric’s insistence on how they treat their human puppets, but the request seemed to have already been granted anyway, as witnessed by the growing activity of the men, women, and children coming to, checking on one another, being physically ill, and otherwise reacting to the scene in which they found themselves.
Apparently deeming Alaric’s words sufficient, the new clan leader tilted his head and turned to bound off to the south, his eight kin leapfrogging after him.
The Resistance army watched them go, mercifully silent of any challenge to Alar
ic’s decision, then they set to lending what aid they could to the recovering civilians.
It was only then that Jarek’s exhausted mind caught up enough to remember he could probably return to his armor.
Rachel’s tired eyes on his pushed the thought to the side of his mind before he could work up the will to move, though.
“That was a hell of a speech, Goldilocks,” he said quietly. “And here I was thinking naked guy between two armies couldn’t be beat.”
Rachel gave him a wink, looking both exhausted and yet somehow lighter than she’d ever been. “Maybe you just need a bigger stick, sweetheart.”
And then she surprised them both and slapped his pale white ass.
He stared at her, not quite understanding the volume of feelings pouring through him in that moment, standing there stark nude, staring at this beautiful woman in the aftermath of the slaughter they’d so narrowly avoided—that he and Rachel had somehow put a stop to.
The words tumbled out all on their own.
“God, I think I love you.”
He might as well have plugged her lungs to a vacuum.
Her mouth worked soundlessly for a few beats, until the floundering apparently grew too much to bear and she dropped her gaze—only to end up staring directly at the exposed stick in question.
She snapped her eyes back up to his face, cheeks reddening, but Alaric’s voice interrupted them before she could say anything.
“I think you’d better put that thing away before you blind someone.”
The commander drew up beside them with some kind of paradox etched across his face, stern yet amused.
Jarek threw a stiff salute, which only left him more exposed and added exasperated to the mural of Alaric’s expression, then he stepped into Fela’s waiting boots.
“Say no more. I’m not nearly Irish enough for this shit anyway.” Once he was safely back in his armor, he glanced surreptitiously around and waved a finger between them. “And just for the record, angry armies on either side does not a turgid Jarek make.”
Rachel closed her eyes, trying to suppress a laugh, or maybe a shudder.
Alaric just frowned. “I’m sure the boys and girls’ll all be happy to hear that, son. But in the meanwhile, I think we’d better focus on hurrying our asses north.”
The Complete Harvesters Series Page 78
