It was clear from the looks on their faces that this revelation was going to take a minute to process. Normally, he’d say that was fair enough, but right now, Jarek wanted answers.
“Look, I get it. I’m pretty awesome and everything—”
“I believe I’m the one inspiring awe, sir,” Al said.
“—but can we please get back to figuring out how to find our stuff so we can all be a step closer to going on our merry ways?”
Michael held up empty hands. “I think we have to find Alaric Weston.”
“I think you have to find Weston,” Rachel said, nodding at Jarek. “Michael told you what he knows.” She looked at Michael. “You can tell your precious Resistance too, but there’s no reason you need to stick your neck out again.”
Michael stared uneasily back and forth between them.
Jarek polished off his whiskey, glad for its warmth beginning to ease through his limbs.
This was bullshit. Worse, this was bullshit he didn’t see any clear way out of. A lead was a lead. Especially when it was the only lead.
He poured himself a fresh glass. The drink was the only thing in the room that could make him feel better about any of this. Pryce gladly took a pour as well.
“You know what?” Jarek said. “I think she’s right, Mikey. No reason to risk our bacon. You should head for the hills—right after your people find Weston and give me my suit back.” He nodded to Rachel and offered her the bottle. “Everyone wins, right?”
“Should you really be drinking with the Reds looking for us?” Michael said.
“If I stopped drinking whenever someone was looking for me, I’d be sober till the day I died. You know what they say about all work and no play …”
“It’s the leading cause of healthy livers everywhere?” Al said.
Pryce snorted.
He wiggled the bottle at Rachel. “A friendly drink. No one wants Mikey sticking his neck out for no reason.”
When she hesitantly extended her glass, her left sleeve rode up her arm. She fixed it in an instant—a practiced, reflexive motion—but not before he caught a glimpse of the raised, pale lines of old scars on the inside of her forearm.
He wordlessly poured her drink, storing the information away, then held the whiskey out to Michael with a grin. When the younger man declined, as Jarek knew he would, he poured himself more instead.
“So what do you say, Mikey? What can the Resistance do for us?”
Michael fidgeted with his hands. “In the next twenty-four hours? Probably not much. Both of our ships were down for repairs, last I knew.”
He stared at Michael for a second, then tilted his head back and cackled. “Both of them? You broke-ass jokers are down to two ships?”
Michael scowled. “We’ve shifted to more of a ground fleet. Airships are too easily spotted these days anyways.”
“Not to mention they get you places way too conveniently. Where’s the fun?”
Michael rubbed at his temples. “Let me call in to update them and see what they can do, but I know they’re going to ask if you’re willing to help find Weston. In return for the suit, of course.”
“Oh, of course,” Jarek said. “Naturally. Because my braving the Red Fortress to pull your sorry ass out clearly isn’t payment enough for the return of my own property.”
“Our back is kinda to the wall here,” Michael said. “We’re trying to help this world.”
“Forgive me if I don’t get all dewy-eyed. I’ve heard a few too many despicable people say those words.”
“Boohoo for you, then,” Rachel said. “You could walk away from all of this as easily as Michael can. Sounds to me like you just want a reason to bitch.”
Jarek straightened in his chair and glared at her, his pulse throbbing in his temples. “Actually, I can’t just walk away from this.” He turned to Michael. “You know what? I’ll find Weston for your band of bumbling idiots, but you’re gonna see to it that I’m paid for the effort.”
Michael nodded emphatically. “I can do that. I can definitely do that.”
“So you’re a mercenary,” Rachel said to Jarek, folding her arms. “That makes sense.”
He jabbed a finger in the rough direction of the Red Fortress. “You didn’t seem to have a problem with my methods when I was saving your ass back there.”
She leaned forward, jaw tense, ready to rise.
Pryce calmly stood and made a point of gathering up their plates and the tray. The action dispelled some of the tension in the air. “If Jarek’s a mercenary, he’s not very good at his job.”
Jarek sipped his whiskey and leaned back in his chair, reclaiming his practiced calm.
“What I’m still wondering,” Pryce continued, “is why the raknoth care so much about this nest object.”
Truth be told, it was a mildly interesting question. He wasn’t entirely sure he cared about the answer, but it was mildly interesting nonetheless.
“What are they even gonna do after twenty-four hours? Put the Resistance in time out? Declare war against the people they’re clearly already at war against?”
“I’m more concerned with what this nest will do after those twenty-four hours,” Pryce said. “It sounded like the threat was planetary, not specifically against the Resistance.”
“I agree, sir,” Al said. “Though it almost sounded to me as if he was warning us that this nest was the threat, not the raknoth themselves.”
Jarek barked a laugh, then shrugged as they all looked at him. “What? No one thinks a giant psychic doomsday egg is worth a laugh?”
Apparently not.
“Maybe the freaking thing hatches,” he said.
Pryce stroked at his chin. “Maybe so. There’s only so much damage one thermonuclear device can do. I mean, they already played that hand and we’re all still here, right?”
“Unless this device transcends our technology,” Al said. “The raknoth are aliens.”
“We don’t know that,” Pryce said.
“Most likely,” Al amended.
Pryce didn’t argue.
“They’re probably just trying to scare us into handing it over,” Michael said. “I think they don’t want us to have it because it’s dangerous to them. Maybe it’s full of information we could use to finally get the upper hand.”
“Here’s a novel idea,” Rachel said. “What if we just walk away and let the creepy alien egg rust in the secret safe place? Maybe the raknoth throw a tantrum. Maybe nothing happens. Either way, the raknoth lose their toy, and we don’t get ourselves killed. Problem solved.”
“Unless it’s a time bomb,” Al said quietly.
“Yeah,” Jarek said. “You can’t go through life just walking away from ticking time bombs, Goldilocks.”
She glared at him. “Says the guy who only cares because his stupid exosuit is in there.”
“That”—he held up a finger—“plus the children. We can’t let a big bomb go off around here.”
“This place is dead!”
“There are close to fifteen thousand people left in the Newark area,” Pryce said. “Plenty more across the bay. Most of New York fled this way when the bombs started falling.”
Rachel’s mouth worked soundlessly for a few seconds, and she sat back with a huff. “That still doesn’t mean you need Michael for any of this.”
She clearly wasn’t going to drop the idea, though Michael didn’t appear to have any interest in fleeing. Jarek might have to sleep with one eye open tonight in case Rachel got it in her head to attempt a rescue via kidnapping.
Pryce set the dishes down in the sink with a clatter. “Michael may be exactly the one who’s needed. Whoever goes is going to have a hell of a time getting Alaric Weston to come back by choice after what happened here. Jarek isn’t Resistance—or much of a diplomat.”
“I resent that, old man,” Jarek said. “But you may have a point. Still, you’d think someone who cared enough to start the Resistance might be able to set personal grievances aside wh
en the doomsday threats start flying, right? Especially if it means sticking it to the raknoth one more time.”
“I never really got why Weston left in the first place,” Michael said. “I mean”—he glanced at Rachel—“if I lost my family to those bastards, I’d—”
“That’s not why he left,” Pryce said. “Not the entirety of it, at least. Alaric did lose his wife and son to the raknoth. The part most people don’t know is that his son isn’t dead. He’s the one who killed his mother.”
Jarek turned around to look at Pryce full on. “Dude killed his own mother?”
“From what little I gathered, it wasn’t really his son anymore. The raknoth got to him. Changed him.”
“They got into his head?” Rachel said.
There was a terrifying thought.
“More than that, maybe,” Pryce said. “I’ve heard stories about them … altering people. Making their servants more like them.”
And there was a more terrifying thought. He thought about Seth Mosen’s uncanny strength and the creepy red glint in his eyes. Was that what had happened to him?
“As far as I know,” Pryce continued, “the raknoth still have the boy under their thumb somewhere. I think that’s why Alaric left. Because he was terrified he might have to face down what was left of his son someday.”
“That makes more sense,” Michael said slowly. “My God.”
He couldn’t say he disagreed with Michael on that one, but even so …
“Everyone has to face down their demons eventually.”
It came out sounding more bitter than he’d intended.
Rachel arched an eyebrow at him.
He pushed down the unpleasant memories fighting to emerge and shrugged. “What? I’m just a heartless mercenary. I don’t know any better.”
He swiped the whiskey bottle from the table and stood, no longer in the mood to talk about any of this. The simple act of standing dropped the curtain on the work the whiskey had been doing behind the scenes. He felt good.
He started for the stairs. He’d sleep in the shop, let Rachel and Michael sort out their business.
“We have enough fuel for a round trip to South Dakota, Al?”
“Affirmative, sir.”
“Good. Tomorrow, then.” He paused at the top step and glanced at Pryce’s back where he stood at the kitchen sink. “Assuming you don’t mind us grabbing a few hours of sleep here, old man.”
Pryce raised a soapy hand and gave him a thumbs-up over his shoulder.
“Right. Thanks.” He looked at Michael. “Better get some sleep, Mikey. We should leave before sunrise.”
“You should leave before sunrise,” Rachel said.
It wasn’t going to end, was it?
“Mikey’s not leaving my sight until I have my suit.”
Michael nodded, looking perfectly happy with the news.
Rachel rose to her feet, hands curling to fists. “The hell he isn’t.”
She looked as if she were contemplating throwing him through the roof, and Jarek wasn’t sure there’d be a damn thing he could do about it if she did. Pryce had turned around to watch the scene, wariness and curiosity warring for control of his features.
“Rache,” Michael said softly, taking her left wrist in his hand. “This is my choice. If you drag me back to Unity, it’s going to have to be kicking and screaming.”
She finally dropped her glare and looked down at Michael, her face tight and slightly flushed with drink.
That was Jarek’s cue.
“Think I better let you crazy kids talk this one out,” he said, starting down the stairs. “Just don’t skip the sleep, Mikey. The adventure starts tomorrow.”
Eleven
“What the hell, Michael?” Rachel said once Pryce had abandoned the remaining dishes and retreated to another room.
“I have to do this, Rache,” he said. “I have to see it through. I’d say it even if it was just for Hux, but I have a feeling this is a lot bigger than that.”
“Oh, good!” she hissed, her face hot with frustration and whiskey-fueled fire. “You have a feeling. I was afraid you were risking your life for nothing!”
“Rache—”
“Look, last night was fun and everything, but I’d rather not have to storm another fortress for you. You need to get out while you still can.”
A silence passed between them, and she found herself wishing she hadn’t had those two heavy drinks.
“This isn’t one of your comics, Spongehead,” she said. “Those people weren’t fucking around back there. And where the hell was your precious Resistance? They hid under their rock while the Reds tortured you.”
“It’s not like that, Rache. They didn’t—”
“Didn’t what? Didn’t know where you were? It took me less than two days to crack that one, Michael, and I barely even know where the fuck I am right now. A fucking mercenary came to pull you out of there of his own free will before your Resistance friends so much as raised a finger. I don’t like him, but at least he didn’t leave you to die. You can’t go back to ‘friends’ like that.”
How could he not see that?
“Rache …” He reached out to touch her arm.
She shrugged it off, too irritated for contact.
“The rest of us can’t do the things you can, Rache. Busting me out of the Red Fortress would have taken everything the Resistance has and then some. We’re severely outgunned here. It’s why I need to make sure what Hux and I found doesn’t go to waste. I promise they were trying to find a way.”
She snorted. “Jarek didn’t have an army. Where were his excuses?”
That put a deep frown on Michael’s face. It probably caused him physical pain, hearing his sister praise the morality of a man like Jarek Slater over that of his precious Resistance. But so what? Jarek might be a dick—scratch that, he was a dick—but she couldn’t deny that things might’ve gone much differently at the Fortress if he hadn’t been there.
Then again, maybe this was all just the whiskey talking.
“That’s different,” Michael finally said. “Jarek might not be like you, but he’s—Jesus, he only did it because he thought I could help him find his suit.”
“What is it with this suit?” she said. “What’s the big deal?”
“Do you remember those Iron Man holos I used to read?”
She nodded. He’d had his head buried in every holo comic he could get his hands on for the better part of their childhood.
“It’s kind of like that. He’s damn near unstoppable in the thing, and as far as we can tell, he’s the only one who can use it—not that that’s stopped anyone from trying to get hold of it. Plus there’s the whole thing with Al.”
She frowned. That entire thing had been unbelievable. She still wasn’t entirely convinced it hadn’t been another person on the line screwing with them for kicks. But if this suit of Jarek’s was real, why not Alfred the AI too?
“Where the hell did he even get his hands on that kind of tech?” she said.
He shook his head. “No idea, but he sure wants it back.”
That was obvious enough. Which also meant he wouldn’t be likely to just forget about Michael and leave him be, not until he got his precious suit. Still, she could handle Jarek. And once they got back to Unity, it wouldn’t matter anyway.
“Do you know how to contact Jarek?”
“We have some mutual contacts, I think.”
“Good. Then we should leave Newark. Now. You can get word to Jarek or the Resistance from Unity if you’re really so desperate to help them.”
Jarek was camped out downstairs, but she had other ways of getting them out of the building. With a little luck, they could be back to Unity by noon tomorrow.
Michael reached over to take her hand. “Rache, it’s not that simple.”
She turned a hard look his way.
He held her gaze. “This is my decision. I believe in this. You can’t keep trying to protect me forever.”
“Not if you’re so damn set on getting yourself killed.” She pulled her hand free of his grip and set her jaw. “I’m not leaving you to go on a freaking road trip alone with that trigger-happy idiot.”
Understanding and alarm flooded his eyes. “Rache, I don’t want you to—”
“Oh, no. You don’t get to have it both ways, Spongehead. If you’re so set on seeing this thing through, you don’t get to tell me to sit out.” She grabbed her staff and moved to the top of the stairs. “If you go, I go. That’s the deal.”
She started down the stairs.
“Where are you going now?” he called.
“To make your stubborn ass a shield in case I’m not there the next time it gets shot at. Try to get some sleep.”
“Rache?”
She paused.
“Can I borrow your comm? I need to check in with my people.”
Of course he did. She stripped off her comm and threw it to him, maybe harder than necessary, then continued down the stairs. “We’re not done with this conversation, Spongehead.”
SHE FOUND JAREK SPRAWLED OUT on an armchair he’d pulled over to one of the worktables close enough that he could prop his feet up on the table’s bench. The half-empty bottle of whiskey sat on the table in front of him. His eyes were closed and his breathing light, but she couldn’t tell if he was asleep or not.
She decided she didn’t care and went over to inspect the supplies on Pryce’s extensively stocked shelves. The invitation Pryce had given to “make themselves at home” before he’d disappeared upstairs might not have included the use of the shop area, but she didn’t need much, and he didn’t seem like the type to begrudge someone a few scraps when it might be a matter of life and death. She gathered what she needed, found a rotary engraver from the giant wall of tools, and returned to the worktables.
She paused next to the larger table, frowning down at the still lines of Jarek’s face and the shallow motion of his breath. He didn’t look particularly peaceful for a sleeping man, but how would he? He’d killed at least nine men back at the Fortress, and given the ease with which he’d done it, she could only imagine how many more corpses he’d left in his wake over the years.
It was a disturbing thought, and yet she didn’t feel this was a hardened murderer she was looking at.
Red Gambit: Book One of the Harvesters Series Page 9
