Though it felt as if he’d been drifting through his trance for close to an hour, Jarek wasn’t particularly surprised to see that only five minutes had passed since their escape as Pryce settled down in the copilot’s chair next to him.
“Well . . .” Pryce said.
“Well.”
“Guess you crazy kids won the day.”
Jarek glanced back at Rachel’s peacefully sleeping form with a tired smile. “Guess we did.” He cocked his head. “Pretty handily too. I mean, I don’t wanna just casually toss the word ‘superheroes’ around, but . . .”
Pryce gave a light chuckle. “I’m glad you got Fela back.”
He nodded and waited for Pryce to say whatever was clearly lingering on his tongue.
“Guess I’m glad you stuck your neck out to save my crazy old ass too.”
Jarek frowned. “It’s not like you got pulled into this mess by random chance. You were in trouble because I brought it to your door. Of course I was gonna come for you.”
“Oh, yeah,” Pryce said with a small smile. “Totally agree. You screwed me over big time. Even so, my cockles are telling me it’s a thanks I owe you.”
“Ick. Tell your cockles to keep their distance, old man.”
Pryce wiggled his eyebrows, then glanced back to the cabin. “Still can’t believe you captured a real live raknoth.”
He eyed Pryce. “You’re just getting excited thinking about all the stuff you could learn from him, aren’t you?”
Pryce gave a guilty smile. “It’s also pretty damn impressive, though. I believe you have the honor of being the first to pull it off.”
“I almost didn’t. Motherfucker’s strong. And fast. Oh, which reminds me—Al, I totally thought up a name for that move where you yaw the ship around and nail the baddies.”
“The Yawt Club, sir?”
“I . . . wha . . .” His mouth worked soundlessly for a few seconds before he sighed and threw a scowl nowhere in particular. “Dammit! Every time, Al!” He turned to Pryce. “This is why the machines are beating us.”
He waited a few seconds for Al’s nonchalant declaration of his superior robot brain, but it didn’t come.
“Al?”
“Sorry, sir. The other ship, they’re trying to hail us, but it’s . . .”
He traded a glance with Pryce, then sat up. “Patch it through up here.”
The speakers came alive with a few bursts of static. “—reading this? That nest thing isn’t d—”
“Al?”
“Working on it.”
“—place to land. Probably shouldn’t take this thing back to HQ until—”
A solid column of pure white radiance lanced into the sky from the other ship’s location half a mile ahead, thick and bright enough to be seen for miles, probably tens of miles. As abruptly as it had begun, it ended. From start to finish, the entire light show had lasted maybe three seconds, and it hadn’t made a single sound.
“Michael!” Rachel cried out on the bench behind them.
He spun. She’d gone bolt upright and was staring at him with frantic eyes.
He turned his own wide eyes to Pryce, who mirrored the expression.
Alaric and their other two passengers crammed up into the cockpit to have a look, but it was over—gone without a trace.
Back in the cabin, the Red King began to laugh his growl-hiss of a laugh.
“What the hell was that?” Jarek finally said. He glanced at the console displays. The Resistance ship looked a little unstable, but it was still flying. “Get them back on the radio, Al.”
“Trying, sir.”
“—that?”
“Hello?” Jarek said.
“Yeah, we got you now,” the radio voice said. “Don’t know what the hell that was, but, uh, we might be . . . I think we’re okay over here.”
“No damage?” Jarek said. “No one’s hurt? The damn roof’s not blown off?”
“Roof’s still here. This is—”
Rachel leaned in over his shoulder. “Michael Carver. Is Michael Carver okay?”
“Guys, is Carver all right back there?”
A pause. A voice in the background. “Oh. Uh, sounds like he got knocked out in the blast, but he’s breathing. They’re taking care of him.”
More raknoth laughter from the cabin.
In the cockpit, no one said a word. Jarek tried to swallow against a dry mouth as he stood. Fela’s sensors informed him that Rachel’s grip on his shoulder was inordinately tight.
“It’s okay.” He gently pried her hand free from his shoulder. “Michael’s okay. We’re gonna figure this out. C’mon.”
She was tough; she’d shown him that enough times by now, but they’d been through too much in the past two days. She had to be even more exhausted than he was. They needed rest. Days of it. But first, he knew, Rachel needed to know that Michael was all right, and they all needed to know what the hell had just happened.
Something told him that flash of light hadn’t been good news. Luckily, they had a scaly green bundle of answers sitting in the back cabin.
The King was still hiss-laughing to himself back there.
Jarek had once come across the smoking ruins of a homestead and found the sole survivor laughing deliriously kneeling among the remains of his family and the marauders who’d killed them only to fall to the man’s maddened fury. That laugh had haunted him, and it was all too similar to the laugh now drifting up from the cabin. It made him feel hollow inside.
Clearly, the raknoth knew something. But what the hell would have him laughing like that?
He strode back to the cabin to find out.
The Red King looked up with his single glowing red orb of an eye. His skin was still covered in green scales. At the sight of Jarek, he ceased his eerie laughter and bared his fangs in an almost manic grin.
It only deepened the unease spreading through Jarek.
“What the hell was that?” he demanded.
The raknoth’s grin widened, and his eye pulsed brighter. “The call.”
He laughed again, and cold, primitive dread settled in Jarek’s stomach. He felt the others hovering behind him, all silently wondering the same thing he was.
“The call for what?”
The King plopped his head against the wall and drew out the moment, still grinning.
Jarek was too tired to mince words. Too tired to deal with whatever was bad enough to have a blood-sucking monster laughing like this. But they needed to know.
He stepped closer and was about to ask more forcefully when the Red King stirred and fixed him with a cold, hard stare. The raknoth’s voice rumbled low in his throat.
“Retribution.”
OUR HEROES WILL RETURN
(In fact, they already have)
Ready to see what’s in store for Jarek and Rachel?
Grab your copy of Hell to Pay today!
Prologue
Haldin Raish leaned forward, steepled his fingers in a decidedly masterly pose, and surveyed the two combatants before him. Elise arched a raven black eyebrow at him. He ignored it.
“Again.”
Elise dipped deep into her personal vat of sarcasm and threw him the salute she found there. He hid his decidedly unmasterly smile behind the steeple of his fingers. Elise turned, all grace and deadly beauty, to square off against her opponent, a slim man with suave features and dark hair peppered with gray.
Alton Parker looked to be in his early forties. He wasn’t.
“Begin,” Haldin said.
Elise rolled her shoulders, sank into a ready stance, and raised a hand to Alton in invitation. For several seconds, Alton only watched, unmoving. Then he sprang forward to throw a sweeping punch at Elise’s head. She sidestepped the blow then ducked the follow-up backhand, wasting nothing with her movements.
She really was a sight to behold, especially in the heat of combat.
Alton threw a series of jabs, and Elise handled those just as fluidly, turning each one aside with crisp prec
ision—always redirecting, never outright blocking. Just like they’d practiced.
She stepped outside of the last punch, pushing the blow past her. She yanked the dark polymer practice knife from her belt and plunged it at Alton’s face.
Alton twisted and dropped his head out of harm’s way, then swept a kick at Elise’s thigh. It wasn’t a particularly well-aimed kick, but coming from Alton, it would still be plenty dangerous.
Elise turned through a tight aerial that took her over the kick and left her face to face with Alton.
He darted forward before her boots touched the deck. Elise only barely managed to throw herself aside in time to avoid his grab.
Too close. That was his cue.
Haldin plucked the clunky pistol from his lap.
Ahead, Elise pulled out of her evasive roll in a ready crouch, wary blue eyes fixed on Alton.
He pointed the gun at her and pulled the trigger.
Elise’s hand was already flying up when the gun gave a sharp, cracking puff. There was a blur of motion, and then a squishy blue dart pulled to a halt a few inches from Elise’s open palm, hovering in midair.
Haldin almost laughed at the surprised expression on her face, but then Alton lunged for her with a low growl.
Elise’s other hand shot up like a striking viper. Alton’s charge slowed as if he’d suddenly been plopped into a chest-high pool of thick honey. His growl deepened, rumbling in his chest, and his pale eyes came alive with fiery red light, whites and irises both. He took another step forward against the resistance. Then another.
In front of him, Elise was down on one knee now, her fair, creamy skin a few shades paler and shining with perspiration. She began to shake from her exertions.
Haldin was opening his mouth to call them to a halt when the squishy blue dart hovering next to Elise’s hand reoriented itself and launched toward Alton seemingly by its own accord.
The dart struck Alton right between his glowing red eyes with a defiant little squeak. Elise looked up, clearly strained but grinning nonetheless.
Haldin couldn’t help it this time. He laughed. “Okay, good, good. Both of you.”
Alton relented his forward march, the fire draining from his eyes. Elise blew out a long breath and plopped down to the deck.
“Not bad,” Alton said, frowning down at the squishy blue dart by his foot. “You’re getting stronger.”
“Was that full power?” Elise asked between heavy breaths.
A satisfied smirk curled the corners of Alton’s mouth. “Hardly.”
“Wonderful.” Elise shook her head, clearly disheartened.
“It actually was,” Haldin said. He reached for the dart and it flew from the deck to his open hand before he’d thought twice about focusing his mind or channeling the requisite energy. By now, telekinesis required little more mental involvement than using his own hands, which wasn’t so surprising. Alpha knew they’d had enough time to practice over the past months.
Elise gave him one of her looks.
“It was,” he said. “You’re doing amazing, Lise.”
“Good news, everyone!” came a voice from the corridor outside. A moment later, Johnny walked into the room in all his flame-haired glory, holding up a single finger exactly as Haldin had known he would.
“You’ve been watching that show again.”
Johnny gave one of his full-body shrugs. “Gotta bone up on the references somehow, broto. Don’t want people to think I’m a weirdo.”
“But Johnny,” Elise said from the deck, “who could ever think that about you?”
Johnny waggled his eyebrows at her and turned to Alton. “I think the jumper-thingies are all done with their space nap. Or whatever it is that they do.”
Alton nodded and strode past Johnny and out of the room.
“Space nap?” Haldin said.
“Yeah, man.”
“You’re such a space sap,” Elise said.
“Nice,” Johnny said, offering her a hand.
She took it and allowed herself to be hauled up. “Thanks.”
They both turned expectant looks on him.
“What?” He stood and slid past them to follow Alton. “I don’t wanna space rap.”
“Ooo!” Johnny said.
“Eh,” Elise said. “I’ve heard better.”
Haldin paused for a three count then spun and made a grab for Elise. She was already moving, not that his extended senses hadn’t already told him that. He could have grabbed her as she whirled past, but then he would’ve missed the chance to see her darting off down the hallway with one of her adorable little giggles.
When you’re stuck in space for months on end trying not to lose it, it’s all about the little things.
They arrived in the large cockpit to find Alton at the main console, eyes closed in concentration. Ahead of him, the round walls of the front half of the room were in their transparent viewing mode, granting an open view of the star-dotted void their last jump had landed them in.
It was a truly breathtaking view. Or had been, at least, the first hundred or so times he’d seen it.
The others trickled in slowly: Phineas and James, Therese and Franco, all gathering to watch the daily ritual unfold.
Alton stirred from his trance and glanced over at the assembled audience.
“How many more?” Haldin asked.
Alton shook his head, just like he did every other day.
Haldin let out a sigh, and they all gathered in front of the enormous view port.
“Everyone ready?” Alton said.
“You know it, Red,” Johnny said, just like he did every other day. He must have enjoyed the irony.
“Five seconds,” Alton said.
Elise took hold of Haldin’s hand, and they all held their collective breath, just like every other day. The customary hum ran through the hull, and the usual tingling sensation crawled over his body. The ship shuddered, and for a second, the world outside went dark. Not outer space dark, with stars and everything, just… dark.
A few silent seconds crept by, just like they always did, and then, just like every other day, the darkness of normal space snapped back into sight, and—
Haldin’s mouth fell open, shock smacking him like a tall wave.
“Holy space crap,” Johnny muttered.
“Sweet Alpha,” Elise whispered.
A giant blue planet filled the view port, covered with swaths of green-brown land masses and swirls of wispy white cloud formations. Haldin stared at it in a stupor until the pressure of Elise’s grip on his hand tugged him back to reality.
After all this time, they’d made it.
1
Jarek Slater stood tall and unflinching before the scrutiny of the three Resistance commanders, wishing they’d get on with it. For the moment being, though, they appeared perfectly content to sit back and wait for god knew what. Certainly not for the rest of the council to arrive. Not a single soul had been late to this particular gathering. They’d piled through the doors in force, jockeying for position to secure good seats for what was sure to be the event of the year: the chastising of the Soldier of Charity.
And now their stares bored into him from all sides like a hundred prodding fingers goading him to lose his shit.
Entitled pricks.
They were going to have a long wait if they wanted to see him squirm. Especially since he was wearing Fela. If this dragged on much longer he could close the exosuit’s faceplate and take a damn nap standing up.
He never should have let Al and Pryce talk him into this olive branch bullshit. Hell, the way things were going, he was starting to wonder if he shouldn’t have just stayed at Pryce’s shop and enjoyed a nice whiskey instead of flying off to the port and duking it out with the Red King’s army to save the day for the Resistance. Which he totally had, by the way.
Apparently someone had forgotten to tell that part to the two dozen glaring a-holes in the council chamber.
Finally, by some imperceptible cue that Jar
ek could only assume involved divine right, Commander Nelken deigned it the appropriate time to begin and leaned his paunchy bulk forward on the commanders’ head table.
“Mr. Slater.” His voice was heavy. Solemn. Freaking theatrical. “You know why we’re here. Twice in the same day you endangered the lives of our men and women. First when you raided our armory and committed what would reasonably be construed as an act of war against us. Then again when you knowingly brought an enemy combatant—and a raknoth, no less—into this base only hours later. It’s unacceptable.”
Nelken was right. It was unacceptable. And he could take that unacceptable pile of bullshit and shove it—
“Easy, sir.” Al’s smooth English accent was crisp and soothing in his helmet earpieces. “Control.”
Al was right. That would drive the bastards crazy.
He spread his hands wide and put on his best carefree grin. “Okay, you got me. I’m trouble. A real loose cannon. Maybe even a terrorist. But let’s not stop there. I think we missed a few parts. Like where I stopped said raknoth from killing everyone and saved actual shiploads of your people.”
At the head table, Commander Sloan’s creepy slender form straightened and he opened his mouth to speak.
Jarek silenced him with an armored finger. “Plus, on a scale from no-no to act of war, I’d put the business here somewhere around stealing from the cookie jar. You know, aside from the part where it wasn’t actually stealing on account of this suit belonging to me and everything.”
Murmurs. Murmurs everywhere.
If they were going to try to take him into custody or make him pay for his “crimes,” he wished they’d whip ’em out and get to it. But they wouldn’t. Of course they wouldn’t. Because this was how it went with outfits like the Resistance, wasn’t it?
They putzed around, babbling about their cause and fighting the good fight until someone came along and actually got shit done, and then they all lost their heads over the audacity of the thing.
Who the hell did he think he was to swoop in and right their sinking ship?
The Complete Harvesters Series Page 24