The Complete Harvesters Series

by Luke R. Mitchell

  The soft whimper that carried to him through the thin, cold air gave him his answer.

  Heart pounding, Jarek headed toward the alleyway up ahead where the sounds came from. He struggled to focus through the surge of adrenaline, and after a moment, Fela’s sensors resolved the murmur of voices into clear words.

  “—ly now, girl,” a man was saying. “Ain’t no need for anyone to get hurt, ‘s long as you’re good for us.”

  “Oh, I think she’ll be good for us, sweet little thing like her,” another voice said, heavy with a local Bostonian accent. “You’ll be good, won’t you, girl? Treat us right?”

  “Please,” a small voice whispered, and then there were sounds of a scuffle, followed by another quavering sob.

  Jarek’s stomach went cold. “We have to help her,” he said, his voice barely a whisper.

  “Agreed, sir,” Al said. “But carefully.”

  “You hear that, Nate?” another voice said up ahead, higher in tone but still unmistakably Bostonian. Jarek’s heart almost stopped, then he remembered that he was still half a block away. The guy was only talking to his fellow Bostonian. “Girl said please! She’s begging us for it!”

  Jarek clenched his fists and a wave of nausea twisted through his stomach as he realized what was about to happen. He closed over the last quarter-block, creeping forward with scarcely a sound.

  “Jesus, Cooper,” the first speaker said. “Now’s not the time for this. Let’s just nab her.”

  Jarek reached the corner of the alley and peeked around. The alleyway was dark, lit only by a single light whose yellow luminescence cast severe, angled shadows from everything it struck. Among those things were the three men who stood in a semicircle halfway down the alley, dressed in mix-matched arrays of thick but worn-looking winter gear.

  Before them, standing with her back pressed firmly to the wall, was the girl. She looked cold and terribly afraid, her face turned from the men and pressed to the wall as if she were hoping she might simply disappear into the brick.

  One of the men—Cooper, he took it—grabbed the girl and yanked her toward him, spinning her around by the forearms so that her back was pressed to his chest.

  “Oh, I don’t know,” Cooper said as she struggled in his arms with a series of sobbing gasps. “There’s no time like the present, I always say.”

  One of the men shook his head and threw his hands up in a gesture of surrender. The other—Nate, his friend had called him—moved in to join Cooper in restraining the girl.

  Even in the dim lighting, Jarek instantly recognized the girl by the glint of her copper hair. She was from the little inn around the block—an establishment that he was fairly sure belonged to her father. He didn’t know her name, but Jarek had admired her from afar on more than one occasion over the past couple years.

  It might have been for this reason, or maybe it was just the way she trembled and the rapid breaths which condensed from her mouth in the cold night air—Jarek couldn’t have said for sure—but something changed in him as Nate started ripping open her jacket. For just a second, he thought about calling out to the men—about rushing down the alley and beating them senseless.

  On a purely logical level, some corner of Jarek’s mind acknowledged that it was possible that he could handle three men. Fela’s armor was supposed to be strong enough to stop bullets, and the exosuit made him far stronger than any normal human. Logically speaking, it actually probably should have been a cakewalk.

  The rest of his mind, though, yelled that he was only sixteen and that each of these men had probably killed people and that he’d never even been in a real fight himself. These thoughts berated him until his mouth was dry and control over his own two legs seemed to shut down completely.

  Then the girl whimpered, and Nate reached out to slap her. The blow landed on her cheek with a crisp smacking sound, and the adrenaline-spiked swirl of emotions pouring through Jarek crystallized into a sudden, incoherent rage.

  From somewhere far away, Jarek thought he heard Al saying something, and it was only then that he realized he was already halfway to the men, and that a wordless cry was pouring out of his mouth. He covered the rest of the ground in the blink of an eye, moving faster than any world-class sprinter.

  He was vaguely aware of someone crying, “What the—” and then the words gave way to an audible whoosh of air leaving lungs as he slammed into Nate.

  Cooper cursed and the girl screamed as Nate went sailing through the air. He slammed into an old rusted-out dumpster with a sickening crunch. Jarek rounded on Cooper, who crouched behind the girl, thrusting her out like a shield as Jarek cocked a fist and cried, “Get away from her!”

  The girl’s expression froze in wide-eyed shock. Jarek took a step toward the pair of them, and Cooper shoved the girl at him, crying, “Back off, freak!”

  Jarek caught the girl as gently as he could just as Al barked, “Gun!”

  He didn’t have time to think about it as the pistol appeared in Cooper’s hand and the muzzle whipped up toward them; he simply grabbed the girl and spun around to place his body between her and the gun. A pair of thunder cracks rang through the alleyway, and Jarek stumbled forward more in shock than anything as two bullets slammed into his upper back.

  “Three steps back. Turn and swing,” Al said, his voice calm and collected.

  Jarek complied. One more shot hit his back, and then Jarek was spinning with a shaky yell and batting the pistol from Cooper’s hand. The pistol hit the brick wall and clattered to the pavement as Cooper backed away, clutching at a gun hand that now sported several oddly angled fingers. He paused to glance at Nate, who lay at the base of the dumpster, unmoving. Behind him, the third man was already at the end of the alley. He called to Cooper then turned to run. Cooper, apparently deciding that Nate wasn’t worth his time or effort right just then, backed away another few feet before turning to follow.

  Jarek watched them go for a long few seconds, at once bouncing with frantic energy and teeming with stomach-churning dread. Something was wrong. They’d just left Nate lying there—abandoned him at the drop of a hat. He looked at Nate, who was so still he almost didn’t look to be breathing.

  “He’s…” Jarek murmured. Oh god. He’s…

  “It’s not your fault, sir,” Al said. “They were going to hurt her, and worse. They might have even killed her.”

  Jarek said nothing as he walked over to kneel down next to Nate and press his fingers to the man’s throat. A heavy blanket of static fuzz seemed to hang over his brain, muddling any thought he attempted. No pulse. Nothing. He’d only been trying to help…

  The girl.

  He turned from Nate’s still body to find her watching him, clutching her jacket tightly about herself, her eyes still wide and a little frantic in the dim light of the alleyway.

  Jarek stood slowly, trying to think the faceplate of his helmet open through Fela’s neural interface as he normally would. When that proved to be too involved of a task in his excited state, he murmured, “Al, faceplate.”

  The girl jumped and backed away a few steps as the faceplate slid open with a soft whir.

  “It’s okay,” Jarek said, holding his hands up. “You’re okay.” He realized he was breathing faster than he had any reason to be, and he felt hot tears pressing at the edges of his eyes. “I just wanted to help,” he said, his voice coming out in a hoarse croak.

  The girl started breathing again, her mouth working soundlessly for a few seconds until she rushed forward to throw her arms around him.

  “Thank you,” she said, her voice soft and breathy. “I don’t know who you are, but thank you.”

  3

  Jarek stood in a comfortably furnished foyer watching the girl (Rose, he’d found out) bury a fresh round of sobs into her father’s chest as he wrapped her in a tight hug.

  “I’m so sorry, little flower,” he was saying for the eighth or ninth time, his voice tight and wavering. “I should’ve gone to get them myself. I don’t know wha
t I was thinking.”

  Jarek looked away, feeling intrusive just for watching. He glanced absentmindedly around the small inn, still reeling too much from what had just happened to really take in what he saw.

  He had inadvertently ended a man’s life. Factually, he knew it was true. Conceptually… it was a little too surreal to fully accept.

  Rose had insisted on bringing him to the inn for food and shelter when she’d learned that he had neither, and now here he was, about to be thanked for killing a man. The thought didn’t seem to sink in as deeply as he thought it should have—like it was just a series of words that had accidentally left their power behind.

  Jarek looked back to see Rose’s father studying him over his daughter’s shoulder, his expression puzzled as he took in the shape of Fela. He gave Rose one last squeeze before disengaging from the embrace and cautiously extending his hand to Jarek.

  “I owe you more than I have to give, but there’s warm food and a warm bed for you here if you want them.”

  Jarek took his hand, careful not to squeeze too hard. “Uh, thanks. Just wanted to help.”

  At the thought of warm food, his stomach rumbled loudly enough to be heard through Fela’s hard shell. One corner of his mouth twisted up in an apologetic smile.

  “You’re starving,” the man said, releasing Jarek’s hand and gesturing to the space beyond the stairs where two tables sat beside a small wooden bar. “Please, sit. I’ll get you something.”

  Jarek complied and did his best to remain attentive as the man followed him over and continued speaking from behind the bar: “I’m Frank, by the way.”

  “Jarek.”

  Rose sat down next to Jarek and traded a weak smile with him as Frank ducked into a back room for a few seconds.

  “That’s an interesting, uh, suit you have there, Jarek,” Frank said as he emerged from the back carrying a few cans and a container of what looked like rice.

  “Uh-huh,” Jarek said, his heart beating a little faster.

  Frank set his cargo down on the counter behind the bar and turned to look at him. “I’m sorry, I don’t mean to pry, it’s just—I’ve never seen anything like it, even before”—he waved a hand toward the window—“you know.”

  “It’s okay,” Jarek said. “I just…” He trailed off, considering. A few little details probably wouldn’t hurt. “I didn’t steal it or anything,” he said. Frank held his hands up to indicate he hadn’t been implying any such thing. Jarek looked out the window. “My dad was an engineer. Before all of this.”

  “Gotcha,” Frank said. He pulled out a can opener and set to work in the little kitchen space behind the bar. “He still around?” he asked a minute later.

  Jarek studied Frank for a long moment before answering.

  “He seems harmless enough,” Al said quietly in his ear. “No need for particulars, though.”

  Jarek nodded, then realized Rose was watching him. As a rule, on the rare occasions he interacted with people, Jarek kept Al’s existence to himself—mostly to avoid drawing unwanted attention, but also in part to avoid shocking the bejesus out of them. He’d have to be careful.

  “Uh, no,” he finally said to Frank. “He died when the bombs fell.”

  Frank nodded, not looking the least bit surprised by the news. “Sorry to hear that.”

  Frank continued on, asking the usual questions, clearly wanting to delve deeper—probably a common trait for an innkeeper, Jarek thought. Jarek did his best to produce polite, coherent answers from his exhausted mind until Rose came to the rescue.

  “Dad…” she said after several minutes, conveying both exhaustion and exasperation with the word.

  “Right,” Frank said. “Sorry. You two have been through a lot tonight. Let’s just get you fed and rested.”

  On both accounts, Frank delivered. After woofing down a dish of black beans and rice, Jarek was already plenty full. His years on the streets hadn’t taught him to turn down food, though. He took seconds, and he ate until he was ready to burst. Rose nibbled beside Jarek, watching him with a concerned look, and Frank came to sit with them and make a pass at light conversation.

  When Jarek couldn’t eat any more, they showed him to one of the open rooms of the inn (which was really just a spacious house). Frank saw to it that Jarek knew where the essentials were, then he left him to rest. Rose lingered, looking like she’d say something, but then she turned and followed her father.

  As exhausted as he was, Jarek didn’t feel like sleeping. His body hummed with nervous energy, his mind racing again and again over what had happened—what he’d done to Nate.

  Al tried to talk him down, but words were of limited value against the thought of the man lying dead in the alley a block away.

  After a while, Jarek decided to try a warm shower to calm his nerves.

  The water felt exquisite. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d had a shower. Fela processed whatever waste Jarek’s body produced and technically kept him clean, but that didn’t even begin to hold a candle to the luxury of basking in the warm downpour of the shower.

  He stood in the falling water until the novelty faded then clambered out and hurried to towel off. Leaving Fela’s secure embrace left him feeling exposed enough; being wet and naked in a stranger’s house only amplified the effect.

  Jarek paused when he caught sight of himself in the mirror. His dark hair hung in wet, shaggy strands next to equally dark eyes, and his face was gaunt—stretched thin between prominent jaw and cheek bones. He looked wild. And he’d grown so pale… everywhere except for his face, which had seen the light of day just often enough to emphasize the pastiness of the rest of his body.

  “Gross,” he muttered, going to get dressed.

  The clothes Frank had given Jarek didn’t really make him feel any less naked. Sweatpants and a t-shirt just didn’t seem to cut it next to an exosuit. Al expressed his own discomfort at Jarek’s vulnerability, speaking quietly enough through Fela’s speakers that no one outside of the room would hear.

  Jarek spent the next fifteen minutes lying in bed staring at the collapsed exosuit beside him—the closest thing he had to a home. Collapsed as it was, it didn’t seem like much to look at, but when he donned the suit, it was a different matter completely.

  When Jarek donned Fela, he went from a scraggly kid to an armored titan, the suit’s dark gray exterior giving him the look of a large, well-built man who’d been skinned to reveal muscles of layered graphene (and who knew what else) rather than flesh and blood. Add in Fela’s sleek, silvery faceplate and the single, horizontal slash that housed many of its sensors, and when he donned the suit, Jarek thought he looked pretty damn badass indeed.

  After several more minutes spent trying to convince himself that he was fine as he was, Jarek rose without a word, stripped back down to his underwear, and stepped feet-first into Fela’s open form. The exosuit came to life and folded around his body from the legs up in precise motions—the smooth, almost gelatinous membrane of Fela’s interior settling snugly against his skin.

  In their first several years together, Jarek had been an extremely poor fit for Fela. The exosuit’s membrane was adaptable enough to allow a good deal of wiggle room in operator size, but Jarek had simply been too small. Now that he was finally growing into the exosuit, he almost shuddered in relief as Fela snapped shut around him.

  Feeling infinitely more secure, Jarek lowered himself to the carpeted floor and laid out next to the bed, no longer having any need for it. Weariness settled on him like a lead blanket, but the image of Nate’s broken body lying at the base of the dumpster hung over him, barring entrance to the realm of sleep.

  Jarek let out a heavy sigh and was just giving up on the idea of sleep when there was a sound at the door. He scrambled to his feet, moving quickly enough that his feet made soft thumps on the carpeted floor as the door began to swing open with a tiny creak. Jarek clenched his fists, his heart beating faster.

  Then he caught a glimpse of copper hair, and
the tension flooded out of his chest as Rose stepped into the room, eyebrows raised and a single finger pressed to her lips in a shushing gesture.

  “Jesus,” he said, his hand moving to his chest as she closed the door. With a careful thought toward the suit’s neural interface, he opened Fela’s faceplate.

  Rose turned to him, apology in her eyes, but she didn’t say anything—only stood there, searching his face for a long moment. Jarek felt his heart pick back up as he met her gaze and held it for far longer than he was accustomed to (especially where cute girls were concerned).

  He swallowed, trying to formulate words through the buzzing in his brain. “You can’t sleep either?”

  She shook her head, her lips drawn tight. She looked close to tears.

  Jarek ran a hand over the back of Fela’s helmet. “Are you, uh… are you okay?”

  The question sounded a bit ridiculous considering the night they’d had, but he didn’t know what else to say.

  Rose shook her head again, tears welling up in her eyes. Her lip quivered, and then, without a word, she was crossing the room. She drew up just short of Jarek, looking up at him with teary, pale green eyes, suddenly hesitant. Jarek searched her face, looking for some sign. Slowly, he reached out—more opening himself up to Rose than actually reaching for her. It was enough. She stepped in and planted her head against his chest, wrapping her arms tightly around him as a series of light, breathy sobs clutched at her.

  Jarek wasn’t exactly used to hugs anymore, but he soon found his body responding anyway, curling her into a careful embrace with Fela’s strong arms. As foreign as human touch was to Jarek, he was surprised to find that holding Rose felt perfectly natural—good, even. Through Fela’s sensors, she felt warm and soft and, above all, real. So he held her as she cried, bowing his head down to rest gently on the top of hers.

  They stayed that way for a long time. At some point, Jarek realized he’d begun to cry as well—silent tears whose origin he couldn’t rightly explain. He didn’t try to; he just rubbed Rose’s back and enjoyed the unfamiliar feeling of closeness.