Reaping Day: Book Three of the Harvesters Series

by Luke R. Mitchell

  Maybe so.

  He wasn’t entirely sure how he should feel about that, but the thought pleased him all the same.

  “I’m still here, Rache,” he said softly. “I’ll be more careful. And hey, speaking of careful, an astute observer might point out I wasn’t the first person to throw myself out of the ship back there. Straight at the galaxy-conquering dinosaur no less.”

  He hadn’t meant it to be an accusation, but the way her face tightened told him the words had stung.

  “No. You were just the first one to do it with a clear head.”

  “Eh, I don’t know if ‘clear’ is the right word.” He grinned. “Or ‘head’ for that matter.”

  Rachel made a breathy sound halfway between a snort and a sob. She turned away to grab a chair—though Jarek didn’t miss the quick dab she made at her eyes—then she sat down at his bedside, took his hand in hers, and held it in her lap. When she’d settled, he saw that she’d lost the battle to contain those tears. The wet rivulets trailed down her cheeks silently, and for a long moment they just gazed at one another.

  “I’m sorry,” she finally said. “I’m the idiot. And now you’re hurt, and Fela’s damaged, and”—she let out another sob-laugh—“he broke your Whacker … Jesus, Jarek. A few inches to the right, and you could have died.”

  “Hey …” He didn’t know exactly what to say next, so he settled for freeing his hand from hers and reaching up to press it to her cheek. “‘You could have died’ has kinda been the central theme of all our dates.”

  She snorted, and another one of those burgeoning tears pulled a jailbreak and plunged down her cheek. “You call that a date?”

  He shrugged. “I mean, when else are we supposed to find the time? The more important question is whether it’s working.”

  “Wouldn’t you like to know?” She leaned down and planted a warm kiss on his cheek. “Just don’t die and leave me all alone here, okay?”

  He grinned. “Funny, I seem to remember making a similar request before you leapt out of a ship at the aforementioned dinosaur.”

  Her sigh was warm against his cheek, her scent setting his heart to racing. It didn’t slow down when she rested her forehead against his, eyes closed. He didn’t even particularly mind the waves of pain that pulsed through his right side with each beat.

  He just closed his own eyes and enjoyed the closeness of her. Slowly, carefully, he tilted his face up and found her lips with his.

  A quick kiss, soft and reassuring.

  He pulled back and opened his eyes to see an equally soft smile on Rachel’s face.

  “Holy crap,” he murmured. “I’m in, aren’t I?”

  She frowned at him—a little too intently. “What are you talking about?”

  His mouth split in a wolfish grin. “Oh, I’m so in.”

  She rolled her eyes. “You’ve lost a lot of blood. You must be delusional.”

  “I mean,” he continued, ignoring the quip, “it’s basically a moral obligation at this point anyway, but …”

  She reached up and thwapped him lightly on the forehead.

  “Ow. Too far. Got it.” He rubbed at his forehead, careful not to move too much. “I’ll take that as a strong maybe, then.”

  She snorted.

  Drogan chose that moment to walk into the room wearing his sandy-haired middle-aged male appearance.

  “Stumpy!” Jarek said. “Dude, I had the weirdest dream about you.” He frowned at Rachel. “What happened after I tapped out, by the way? I’m assuming things turned for the better, seeing as we’re all alive and whatnot.”

  “Rachel Cross was … bravely holding the field against Kul’Gada when we arrived,” Drogan said, his eyes fixed on Rachel all the while.

  Rachel squirmed a bit under Drogan’s piercing gaze. Which was kind of weird, seeing as Jarek couldn’t really recall having ever seen her squirm for anyone.

  “Damn near getting myself killed, in other words,” Rachel said, keeping her eyes pointedly on Jarek and looking a touch tense. “I did take one of Gada’s eyes after he got you, though. Not that that’s likely to stick. Haldin and Elise got tied up dealing with those villagers, and Drogan showed up just in time to save my ass. Al’Brandt and his raknoth came charging out of the temple in their own sweet time, and Gada ran off down the mountain.”

  “Huh,” Jarek said, mildly more curious now about why exactly Rachel was acting weird. “Well, all things considered, I’d say we earn a gold star for our first rumble with the unstoppable force.”

  “Coming from the guy whose arm is barely attached to his body,” Rachel said.

  Drogan walked around to Jarek’s wounded side and gave the bandages on his shoulder a few sniffs. “Which is why I’ve come to continue speeding your healing, if you are ready.”

  “Uh, continue?” Jarek glanced between them.

  Rachel’s face said it all.

  “Wait, that wasn’t just a weird-ass dream?”

  Nothing.

  “Ugh!” Jarek looked at his bandaged shoulder in disgust. “What the hell, Stumpy? You fed on me?”

  Drogan cocked his head. “Well, technically, yes, but—”

  “And you let him?” Jarek asked Rachel.

  She threw her hands up defensively. “It was working! His saliva slowed the bleeding and, like, started mending your tissues together in front of our eyes. It was pretty creepy.” She glanced at Drogan. “No offense.”

  Drogan huffed.

  Jarek eyed him. “You guys can heal people with spit?”

  Drogan crossed his arms. “We are masters of biological manipulation. It is why we are able to strengthen vessels once we take them. Despite what you might think about us, we create just as well as we destroy. Mending endogenous wounds comes far more easily, but we are capable of passing on some of this ability through our fluids if we so choose.”

  “Ick,” Jarek said. “Fluids …”

  Drogan sighed. “Do you wish to be healed or not?”

  “Do you really have to lick me?”

  “Would you prefer I spit in the wound?”

  Jarek made a face. “I think I’d prefer a second opinion more than anything. Can we, uh, inject it? There’s gotta be a syringe around here somewhere.”

  Rachel rooted around in the corner cabinets and came back with a syringe and a paper cup, which she handed to Drogan.

  The raknoth shrugged, wiggled his head, and bared teeth which were rapidly morphing to fangs. He raised the cup. Clear fluid—drool, as far as Jarek was concerned—began to drip from fangs to cup.

  Jarek shuddered. “The humanity …”

  He faced Rachel to take his mind away from the thought of smearing Drogan’s fluids on an open wound. “So what’s the news? How bad was the furor we missed?”

  “Well”—Rachel gestured at the walls around them—“we’re still standing here, but it sounds like things got pretty messy. We’re, uh, not the most popular kids in camp right now, what with us conveniently slipping off with raknoth before the furor and coming back not long after.”

  Jarek pointed at his shoulder. “I don’t suppose anyone happened to notice we weren’t exactly on vacation?”

  Rachel made a face. “I wouldn’t expect many sympathy cards anytime soon. Especially not from the commanders.”

  Great.

  You really couldn’t win, could you?

  But hey, maybe he deserved it. It wasn’t like any of his gallivanting—as Alaric had put it—actually ended up doing much good for anyone. Sure, they’d helped some raknoth escape the mountains, and hopefully secured them as allies, but that was something they should’ve been able to accomplish with a comm call or some messengers. Kole was still dead, Katashina was probably still burning, and Jarek had gone and damn near got himself amputated.

  Which reminded him. “Fela?”

  He caught sight of the exosuit’s collapsed form in the far corner at the same time Al said, “Right here, sir. Mostly in one piece, even.”

  Jarek winced at the
ugly opening Gada’s claws had shredded in Fela’s right shoulder. It must’ve been a single claw, actually, looking at it now. He couldn’t really say the suit had seen worse, but if Al wasn’t too worried, it must mean he thought the damage was something he and Pryce could handle.

  “Glad to hear it, buddy.” Jarek looked back at Rachel. “And Gada? Do we know where he went?”

  “Likely to recover and continue hunting less protected clans,” Drogan said. “Possibly even to recruit those of my kin who would yet hope to rejoin the masters.”

  “The council’s debating whether we should focus on bolstering our defenses or going after Gada while he’s on the run,” Rachel said.

  “There’s a slight difference between running and being ‘on the run’,” Jarek said.

  Rachel nodded. “Plus we have no idea when the rest of his buddies are gonna show up. I voted we set an entire city of traps for the bastards.”

  “I like the way the lady thinks,” came an amused voice from the doorway. Pryce.

  He stepped into the room and hesitated only a moment at the sight of Drogan before heading to the foot of Jarek’s bed.

  He took in Jarek’s condition with a grim expression. “You look like hell, son.”

  “You should see the other guy,” Jarek said. Rachel arched a brow at him and he added, “I mean, like, out of professional curiosity and stuff. Galaxy-conquering dinosaurs, man.”

  Rachel tilted her head in concession.

  Pryce frowned, thinking about that. “I may need to see some footage of that one.” He went to inspect the damage to Fela’s shoulder and let out a low whistle. “Must’ve been one scary bastard, though. How are you holding up in there, Alfred?”

  “Quite well, sir,” Al said. “Thank you for asking. As you know, most of my hardware is fortunately housed in Fela’s posterior portions.”

  Jarek shot a wide grin at Rachel. “Al’s always on my ass one way or another.”

  “Woe is me,” Al said in a somber tone.

  Pryce chuckled and turned back to them. “I’ll patch the armor as best I can. Not so sure about the servos, but I’m sure Alfred and I can figure something out.”

  “Much obliged, old man.” Jarek turned to Rachel. “Mind doing the honor of keeping her safe while I’m not inside of her?”

  Rachel arched an eyebrow. “You want a phrasing check on that one?”

  He made his best thoughtful face and finally shook his head. “Nah, I’m good with it.”

  She smiled and stood. “Fine. I’m already supposed to be helping with the cloak generators over there anyways. I guess I can guard your mistress while I’m at it.”

  “My deepest gratitude,” Al said. “I think.”

  “Don’t mention it.” Rachel turned to Pryce. “I wanted to talk to you about something else too.”

  “Mysterious,” Jarek said.

  Rachel wiggled her fingers most mysteriously in the air, but her expression quickly sobered. “We need to figure out how to kill that thing if hacking it to pieces isn’t a valid option.”

  “Hey, he bled when I cut him,” Jarek said. “And you said you took his eye out. He’s got soft spots.”

  “Well yeah, but that’s an eye. That’s like the one guaranteed soft spot.”

  “And it will regrow,” Drogan added. “Likely quite quickly.”

  “Fire always works,” Pryce said. “A strong hide won’t keep blood or whatever else from boiling …” He wrinkled his nose. “Not to sound morbid or anything. Still, easier to turn up the heat than to figure out how to swing a bigger stick harder.”

  “Or a bigger Whacker,” Jarek said. “Bastard sheared mine clean through.”

  Pryce’s eyebrows reached for the ceiling. “With what?”

  “I wanna say claws,” Jarek said, “but sword-fingers is probably a better description.”

  “Galileo’s beard …” Pryce muttered. “Scary bastard indeed.”

  “Space dinosaurs, man.” Jarek shook his head. “Not even once.”

  “Right,” Pryce said. “Well I’ll see what I can do about that too.”

  “That’s kinda what I wanted to talk to you about,” Rachel said.

  “Most mysterious,” Jarek said.

  Pryce perked up. “Why don’t we step on over to my office then?”

  “You’re okay here?” Rachel asked Jarek, shooting an uncertain glance at Drogan.

  “Oh, sure. Stumpy and I have big plans.”

  Pryce started to say bye, then paused, glancing between Jarek and Drogan’s impressively full cup of miracle spit with a curious expression. “Wait, is that—is he …?”

  “Raknoth spit. Magical healing properties.” Jarek waved his good hand. “You know, that old chestnut.”

  “Sure, sure,” Pryce said, nodding. “Guess I’ll … see you soon then.” He turned and then did a double-take. “I’m gonna have to hear more about how the hell that works later. You know that, right?”

  Jarek chuckled and waved him away. “Go on, you old scholar, you. I’m sure Stumpy will be happy to answer your questions later.”

  Drogan let out a soft growl, still salivating into his cup.

  “I’m sure Alton will be happy to answer your questions later,” Jarek amended.

  “Okay, then.” Pryce frowned at the cup one more time. “Get …” He shook himself out of whatever mental tangent he’d wandered off on. “Get some rest. I’ll see you soon.”

  They turned to leave, and Al dramatically cleared his throat through Fela’s speakers.

  “Oh, shit,” Rachel said. “Sorry, Al.”

  Jarek smiled at the AI’s leg-jerking shenanigans. “Go on, buddy. You can do it.”

  “Very well, sir.” Fela rose smoothly to her feet under Al’s control and gave a neat little bow. “Do be careful while I’m gone.”

  “Oh don’t you worry about little old me,” Jarek watched Drogan drip one last big globule of drool into the paper cup and wipe his mouth on his sleeve. “I’m clearly in fantastic hands.”

  The three left in their bizarre little convoy, each one of them looking back at Jarek one last time as if it were a requirement to pass through the door. Rachel’s glance lingered longest, her gaze flicking uncertainly between him and Drogan, her posture still just a touch stiff, defensive.

  “I’d ask you if that seemed kinda weird,” Jarek said to Drogan when they’d gone, “but something tells me you’re not the guy I should be asking about sporadic human behavior.”

  “You refer to Rachel Cross’ defensive reaction to my presence?”

  Jarek looked at the raknoth, mildly surprised. “So you did notice?” He frowned down at the blanketed bump of his feet. “Maybe she’s just shaken up. I mean, can you imagine saying goodbye to this face?”

  Bad joke turned to sad joke as his fingers brushed the scar lines Golga had left him, starting on his forehead. First that, now his shoulder. There might not be much left to say goodbye to if he kept this up.

  He didn’t mention that maybe she was just tired of sharing the same breathing air with any raknoth in general, or that, underneath the bad jokes, “shaken up” was about three sizes too small a phrase to describe how he himself was feeling after having barely lived through that monster Gada bearing down on him with all of hell’s fury and more.

  Jarek’s nightmares were about to enter a whole new dimension of terrifying after that battle. But, somehow, none of this seemed like stuff Drogan needed to know.

  At least, not until the raknoth said, “I would wager it has more to do with the fact that she tried to kill Al’Braka before I arrived.”

  It took Jarek a few seconds to remember Al’Braka was Alton Parker’s real name, or at least the one the raknoth had given him before he’d decided to change his ways and adopt a new one.

  When he did remember, though …

  The final moments he remembered from the fight flashed through his mind, and the uncomfortable feeling he realized now had been quietly percolating in the periphery shifted to a full-on sink
ing stomach.

  Back on the mountain, Jarek had been sure his misstep and resultant trip had cost him the fight—right up until Alton had made an inexplicably awkward stumble into Gada’s path. Almost like the raknoth had his own accident.

  “What do you mean, she tried to kill him?” he asked quietly.

  “Al’Braka wouldn’t say much,” Drogan said. “And only through our telepathic link at that, but it was little more than an unfortunately-timed push from what I gathered.”

  “But Rachel …”

  What? Wouldn’t have done that? After everything she’d said about Alton and the raknoth, could he really be so sure?

  Something—and it felt dangerously like naïve hope—told him she wouldn’t have gone so far as to deliberately try to take one of their allies out in the middle of such a dangerous fight. But a crucially-timed push, seemingly out of nowhere—who else would it have been but Rachel? If she’d seen it as simply putting a raknoth at risk to buy Jarek time to recover and find an opening …

  “Shit,” he whispered.

  After everything she’d said back on the Enochians’ ship, it wasn’t too much of a stretch to imagine she might be okay with that kind of means to an end mentality right now.

  Or maybe not.

  Suddenly, the conversation they’d just had took on a whole new light. Her hesitation. The tears. It was as if she’d been trying to tell him something. And then there was her reaction to Drogan’s arrival.

  And here he’d let himself fancy it all had something to do with him and his light butchery experience.

  He met Drogan’s gaze. “If this is true, what are you planning to do about it?”

  Drogan studied him for a stretch before answering. “I have neither proof nor any great love for the one who has eschewed his true name. At present, I am not compelled to do a thing. If she were to turn against me or my own clan, however …”

  “Yeah.” Jarek shifted uncomfortably and did his best to keep a wince of pain from seizing his face. “Well, I think it goes without saying that anyone who tries to touch a golden hair on her head is gonna have to go through me first.”

  Drogan pointedly shifted his gaze to the mass of bandages covering Jarek’s shoulder, looking slightly amused but saying nothing.