“I don’t like the sound of this, Michael,” Rachel said.
“And how, I wonder, would such a device ‘open the world to horrors it’s never known before?’” Al said quietly in his earpiece.
That was a good question, but not quite as good as where Fela was and how he was supposed to get her back.
He polished off his whiskey and reached for the bottle. On the couch across from him, Rachel took a sip of her own whiskey, wrinkled up her face, and failed to suppress a small cough. He grinned. Michael shot a frown her way.
“Right, then.” He leaned back with a fresh glass and propped his feet up on the worn wooden coffee table between them. “Giant, mind-bending metal egg thing. Fascinating stuff.”
“Eloquently said, sir,” Al said.
He ignored Al. “Now why the hell is the Red King threatening us with doomsday over this thing, and, more importantly, what does any of this have to do with my suit?”
Michael fixed him with a serious look. “I have no idea what he meant by that, but this could be big, Jarek. Bigger than you or Fela. We’re talking about potentially stopping the raknoth here. About getting this world back on track. Can’t you see that?”
“You know,” Jarek said, “I’ve probably heard people make claims like that a dozen different times now. It’s always something big, always the turning point you’ve all been waiting for. It’s bullshit, Mikey. You’re sitting on a giant egg. That’s it. You have no idea why they want it. And even if you were right and this was the time for us to all hold dicks together and fight the raknoth, you know I’d be a hundred times more useful to everyone if I had Fela. So before we get high on dreams of saving the world, first things first: where’s my suit?”
Michael shifted in his seat. “Like I said, I don’t know, exactly.”
“Right. But I take it you know who does.”
“I do.” Michael took a deep breath and let it out before finally meeting Jarek’s gaze. “But it’s Alaric Weston.”
“What?”
That wasn’t good. That was the opposite of good. The man who knew how to find Fela just so happened to be a legend who’d disappeared like a ghost years ago. “You’ve gotta be kidding me.”
Michael shook his head.
“Fuck. Fuck!”
“Not good,” Al agreed in his ear.
Pryce placed a food-laden tray on the table and sat in his own armchair beside Jarek. “Did you say Alaric Weston?”
“That can’t be your only lead,” Jarek said.
Michael looked down at the thick white carpet between them, his expression that of a dog who’d just crapped on said carpet.
“Who’s Alaric Weston?” Rachel asked.
“He’s kind of the father of the Resistance,” Michael said, not looking up.
“The absentee father,” Jarek said. “Who hasn’t been seen or heard from for at least, what?”
“Five years,” Pryce said. He took a sip of his own whiskey and calmly began to assemble a sandwich from the tomatoes and cheese and homemade bread on the platter in front of them.
“Five years!” Jarek set his whiskey to the side and leaned in to follow Pryce’s lead. He’d been content enough to enjoy the sweet fire of Pryce’s homemade whiskey as he waited, but now that the scent of fresh-baked bread was hitting him full blast, he was ready to eat. Busting out of fortresses was hungry work, it seemed, because the others quickly followed suit.
“I have to say, Mikey,” Jarek said around a bite, “I really hope the next seven words out of your mouth are, ‘I know where Alaric Weston is.’”
“That’s six words, sir,” Al said in his ear.
He paused and began counting off on his fingers. “Jarek. I know where Alaric Weston is, Jarek. Make my day, Mikey.”
“I know where Alaric Weston is,” Pryce said. He took a bite of his sandwich and shrugged. “Or where he went, at least.”
That came as a surprise. Jarek knew Pryce had been acquainted with Weston on some level, but he was pretty sure they weren’t pen pals these days. And of course, Pryce just had to milk his delicious intel for all it was worth.
“Thanks for speaking up sooner, ya old goat,” he said. “So where’d the big bad rebel go?”
Michael leaned forward. “Resistance intel—”
Jarek snorted.
“—puts him in Deadwood.”
“South Dakota,” Pryce said at Jarek’s questioning look. “That would be my strong guess too, but I don’t think finding him’s the real problem. It’s getting him to come back here that’s going to be the hard part.”
He didn’t know much about Weston’s disappearance save that the guy had bailed after his role in the Resistance had gotten his family killed. Jarek could fly to South Dakota himself, no problem. But opening this particular can of worms?
There had to be another way.
“Are you sure we really need Weston to find this place?”
“That’s what Hux told me before he . . .” Michael’s eyebrows knitted together. “He said Alaric was the only other person who knew. He was going to show me the place someday, but that’s . . .” He sighed. “Yeah. Weston’s our best bet.”
“And we’re sure Al can’t get a fix on Fela?” Pryce said. “Even knowing she’s probably somewhere in the city?”
“No dice,” Jarek said. “Believe me, we’ve tried, and—oh, come on, Al.” He rolled his eyes at the confused looks Michael and Rachel were shooting him over their sandwiches. “Might as well say hi.”
Al’s voice came out of the comm’s external speaker now. “Um, right. Hello! I’m Al.”
“Hi,” Rachel said, her eyes shifting back and forth uncertainly.
Michael stared at the comm. “Is that . . .”
“My robot sidekick, yep,” Jarek said. “Moving on: Al’s done his best, but Hux must’ve shielded this safe place of his, because we’ve got nothing. Al’s also . . .”
He actually felt bad saying it. Despite what the few who knew about him might’ve thought, Al had feelings too—real feelings.
“ . . . not at my best, sir,” Al said. “Not running on this confounded ship’s computer.”
“He almost crashed the ship a few weeks ago,” Jarek said.
“The computer?” Pryce said. “Or the actual ship?”
“Well, you know, when one goes . . .”
Al sniffed. “It’s a rubbish computer, sir! I’ve no space to stretch my legs in here.”
“I agree,” Jarek said. “Which leads us back to needing Fela.”
“Well that’s a fine pickle, then.” Pryce tucked the last bite of his sandwich away.
Michael and Rachel were still staring at Jarek’s comm.
Rachel cleared her throat. “You’re telling me this Al guy is, like—”
“An artificial intelligence construct, if you please,” Al said, “though ‘Al’ will do fine. Alfred, actually, is the name.”
“I’d heard rumors you had some kind of lost-gen AI riding around in that exo,” Michael said, “but I didn’t know—wow, man.”
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 when 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.
The Complete Harvesters Series Page 9