The Complete Harvesters Series

by Luke R. Mitchell

  “Sorry,” came Lea’s voice, “I—oh…” she added as her face appeared on the holo and her holo must’ve similarly populated to show Rachel tugging on her shirt in the back cabin.

  “What’s up?” Jarek asked, not in much of a mood to give a shit what anyone thought right now. “Judging from the persistence, I can only assume the world is ending.”

  “I’m…” Lea’s gaze flicked back and forth between him and Rachel. “Shoot. I’m really sorry to interrupt, guys, but we have a problem.”

  22

  Once upon a time, Jarek had been reasonably confident that phrases like “we have a problem” could be translated to things like, “We’re gonna have to wait for daylight if we don’t want the ship’s batteries to run dry,” or, “Hey, that band of marauders who wanna kick your ass just rolled into town.” Those had been problems, yes, but manageable ones. Trivial ones, even.

  But nowadays, anytime someone said those four shitty little words, Jarek was inclined to go from zero to full-on clench in a few microseconds flat.

  “Lay it on us,” he said as Rachel entered the cockpit behind him, entirely too clothed for the afternoon they’d been fixing to have.

  “It’s happening again,” Lea said. “Another furor, I mean. It’s hitting Newark, coming up from the south. A big one, from what our scouts reported. The commanders are sending everything we can to get it under control.”

  Crap.

  “The new generators are almost ready,” Rachel said, dropping into the copilot’s seat next to Jarek.

  “Nelken’s reaching out to the Enochians himself about getting them deployed right now,” Lea said. “In the meanwhile, they want you guys at the vanguard.” She glanced uncertainly at Jarek. “Assuming you’re ready for it.”

  “I can handle it,” Jarek said.

  As long as he tried to favor his left arm where possible and didn’t happen to come across any upset Wookies. Or rakul.

  Whether or not he was ready wasn’t quite as concerning at the moment as the way this development was tickling at his funny business button, though.

  “Why Newark?” he added. “Why hit anywhere but here or Camp Krogoth?”

  Why, indeed, unless Gada was trying to draw them out?

  “Command is already considering it could be a trap,” Lea said, “but we still don’t know if these events are even deliberate or what, and people are dying out there. Unless you know something we don’t, we’re moving out. All of us.”

  Jarek traded a questioning glance with Rachel. “That’s an order?”

  Lea looked uncomfortably between the two of them on the holo. “You two be careful. That’s the order. There’s a team headed your way for transport. I’ll see you out there once we’ve finished rallying the troops here.”

  With that, she ended the call.

  It was probably just that he was hearing through Fela’s sensors now, but the muffled sounds of activity outside seemed to have doubled or tripled since their fun had first been interrupted by their confounded comms.

  Jarek absentmindedly listened to the bustle, trying to mentally hash out every scenario in which a furor down south wouldn’t simply be a trap to bait them out of their stronghold.

  The options seemed rather limited.

  “What is it?” Rachel asked.

  He shook his head. “It’s nothing.”

  “That doesn’t look like your ‘it’s nothing’ face.”

  Probably because it wasn’t. But Lea was right. People were dying. Whatever else might be happening… Well, he was supremely short on any proof, and he didn’t need to look too far to remember what had happened last time he’d thought he’d known best.

  So instead of speculating, he stood and offered Rachel his hand. “Come on. We need to move.”

  Rachel watched him closely, making no move to take his hand. “You think you’re seeing something they’re not? And you’re just gonna march into battle like a good little soldier anyway?”

  Jarek shrugged. “It’s nothing. And you heard the lady. Orders is orders.”

  With that, he strode back to the cabin to strap on his gun belt and his shiny new sword, trying to ignore the nagging feeling that’d settled somewhere in the space between his brain and his gut.

  It was nothing, as he’d pointed out twice now. They’d keep the good people of Newark from hurting themselves and each other as best they could until the furor ended or the Enochians got there with the cloaking generators, then they’d regroup back at HQ and rally up for the real fight.

  What could possibly go wrong? Aside from pretty much everything, that was.

  Apparently, Rachel had her own share of skepticism about the whole thing.

  “Can we get a bioscan or something to confirm that’s still our Jarek in there, Al?” she asked from the cockpit.

  “I was rather thinking this was cause for celebration, ma’am,” Al said. “Jarek practicing caution and playing nice with others? I’ll enjoy it while I can.”

  “Don’t tempt me, Mr. Robot,” Jarek said, strolling back to the hatch release. “Any eyes on that team, by the way?”

  A firm pair of thumping knocks on the hull answered before Al could.

  “Company, sir,” he added anyway.

  “Gee, thanks, buddy.”

  Jarek reached for the hatch release, glancing back to exchange a knowing look with Rachel only to find that she’d tensed in the cockpit doorway, looking less than amused.

  “They sent Drogan,” she said quietly to Jarek’s questioning look.

  Ah.

  “You don’t have to hold hands,” Jarek said slowly. “But our people seeing him helping out there could probably do us all a lot of good right now.”

  She considered that, looking no less tense, but finally nodded her agreement.

  Jarek slapped the hatch release, and the ramp descended with a mournful groan to reveal several skeptical faces gathering nearby, pointedly separate from Drogan, who’d been the one to knock.

  Around them, the entirety of HQ was at full throttle—squads dashing here and there to link up with their respective transports while others, presumably those who weren’t packing cloaking glyphs on their persons, hurried to carry gear and supplies where they were needed. From the looks of it, command was scrambling the better part of the entire Resistance army to get its ass down to Newark.

  They must be dealing with a serious furor then, beyond what they’d seen before. The thought didn’t ease the bad feeling in his stomach.

  As hectic as their surroundings were, tense silence somehow managed to assert itself through the space between the parties gathered in and around Jarek’s ship.

  Drogan looked like he’d say something first, but, instead, he closed his mouth and strode pointedly up the ramp, past Jarek and Rachel without a word, and into the cockpit, where he probably realized he’d be most easily separated from the rest of the crew.

  That, however, didn’t make the Resistance troops look any happier at the thought of climbing aboard.

  A loud click reverberated across the lot, and Nelken’s gruff voice sounded from several speakers, informing the base that all readied forces were clear to depart. Jarek thought he detected a hint of rankle in Nelken’s tone, probably largely centered on the man’s current role as the injured commander who was to sit back at HQ while the others got to have their fun out in the field.

  Around the lot, the already chaotic bustle took on a frantic edge at Nelken’s all-go order. The half dozen transport trucks already gathered by the newly-constructed gates sprang forward to action, several more rolling in to take their place.

  Fun. Right.

  Jarek looked down at the timid troops waiting at the base of the boarding ramp and waved them on. “C’mon. Let’s get this party started, people.” He jerked a thumb in Drogan’s direction. “He’ll keep his hands to himself.”

  “I’ll make sure he does,” Rachel added to the troops.

  Jarek forced himself to keep a relaxed expression and not look ar
ound at the low warning growl that rumbled from the cockpit. At least it was quiet enough that he was probably the only one to hear it.

  So maybe Rachel wasn’t exactly all in on Operation Raknoth Friendship yet, but at least her comment encouraged a few of the troops to scowl and plod their way onto the ship with their dastardly ally.

  The rest followed their example quickly enough.

  “Right then,” Jarek mumbled, slapping the hatch button. “Was that so hard?”

  Not as hard as making his way up to the cockpit past the dozen troops now crammed into the cabin, apparently.

  It didn’t help that none of them seemed overly concerned with easing his passage, either because they were feeling ornery or because they were too preoccupied staring at the boarding ramp with a range of horrified expressions as it raised shut with the groans of a laboring ox.

  “Shall I take us up, sir?” Al asked in Jarek’s ear as he reached the head of the crowd and the ramp snapped shut with a few too many jarring clacks.

  “Take it away, buddy. Nice and easy.”

  Soldiers grabbed high and low for handholds as Al lifted the ship and set them off as gently as could be reasonably expected.

  Jarek posted himself just outside the cockpit and clamped an armored hand onto one of the grips above the door, not minding one bit when Rachel skirted closer to him and opted to use him for support.

  What enjoyment he gained from Rachel’s closeness, though, was quickly snuffed out by the heavy silence that hung in the air, practically oozing malcontent and distrust. All Resistance eyes were trained on the cockpit door, none of them relaxed.

  This wasn’t going to do.

  “Stumpy?”

  Drogan shot him an irritated scowl, his eyes lightly smoldering.

  Jarek ignored the look and jerked his head toward the cabin-goers. “Is there anything you’d like to say to the class?”

  “My participation was requested by their commanders,” Drogan said without looking back into the cabin or even particularly bothering to raise his voice enough to be heard back there. “If they take qualm, perhaps they should reevaluate the process by which they elect their leaders, not to mention their desire to survive in the days to come.”

  Fantastic. Thank god he wasn’t going to make this difficult or anything.

  Jarek looked back to the cabin crew and waved his free hand, trying to keep the wince off his face. “See, guys? All good!”

  Oddly enough, they seemed less than convinced.

  A short, tense flight later, the only positive news was that no one had much energy left to worry about the single raknoth in their midst.

  Jarek had expected the furor to be big.

  Not this big.

  There were hundreds of them, maybe even a thousand, just in the stretch he could see through the cockpit windshield as they flew low over the first arriving Resistance trucks. Wild-eyed men and women of all shapes and ages, in all states of dress and undress, and with all manners of armaments. The crowd had one thing in common, though.

  They were clearly all out of their minds with rage.

  Several bodies already lined the streets, plenty more joining them by the second as many of the crowd tore at each other with teeth, nails, fists, and the odd club, blade, or chair.

  How were there this many?

  Had Gada swept all of Newark, moving up from the south? Had he marched them in from all the homesteads in the surrounding areas?

  The sight of a skeletal middle-aged woman burying a hatchet in a young man’s throat reminded Jarek that the hows and whys weren’t exactly important at the moment.

  Al guided the ship down to an abandoned, crumbling lot so they could unload without clogging the traffic lane for the Resistance trucks approaching behind them. The soldiers in the cabin shifted uneasily, readying stun guns, batons, and even a few tranquilizers and riot shields.

  Jarek couldn’t really blame them for the nerves. Before the ramp had even completed its descent, it seemed like the frantic, slobbering attention of half the berserking civilians in immediate view had snapped their way.

  It was creepy as shit.

  They piled quickly out of the ship and got organized as the first batch of Resistance transport trucks rolled by and stopped to do the same.

  Further down the road, the furor crowd eased out of its self-mutilation and kicked into a full-on charge.

  Something was off. Something more than the thunder of hundreds of feet pounding the pavement and the disturbing growls and shrieks that filled the sickly noon air.

  This wasn’t like the furor Jarek had witnessed, or like what he’d heard from the accounts of the one they’d missed. He was sure of it, but it took him a long moment to realize why. Finally, though, he saw it.

  While there was plenty of wild-eyed madness to go around from one individual to the next, as a whole, the mob’s movements were too focused, too organized.

  Now that Resistance forces were rolling in and giving the berserkers something to fixate on, what had first looked like total chaotic madness was suddenly resembling a deliberate, albeit insane, army.

  Could Gada pull this kind of operation from afar?

  From the immediate looks of it, yes. But Jarek didn’t have much time to worry about it as the leaders of the maddened pack closed the gap between them.

  They just had time to fall in with the Resistance troops who’d arrived in the first few trucks, and then the fighting began in proper, more ferocious than anything Jarek had ever witnessed.

  It didn’t matter that one side was doing its best to remain non-lethal. The other side more than made up for any lack of violent madness on their behalf.

  Civilians crashed into the riot shield line with reckless abandon, swinging and kicking and biting at anything and everything within reach. Terrible cries split the air, many barely recognizable as human, so numerous that they almost seemed to combine into one long, unbroken scream straight from the throat of hell.

  The dozen shield-bearers holding the street line shoulder-to-shoulder nearly crumpled under the first surge—would have collapsed completely before the mad tide if not for the strength of their allies filling in behind them and holding them fast in groups of threes, fours, and even more in a few places.

  Jarek allowed himself a horrified glance at Rachel, who returned the look just as intently, too startled even to remember to be tense at Drogan’s close proximity. Then the three of them waded into the madness together.

  As they went, Jarek caught sight of more than a couple particularly troublesome berserkers taking sudden, inexplicable flights back into the raging ranks—Rachel’s work, no doubt.

  Halfway to the front line, Drogan abandoned their steady push and instead leapt high and long from the crowd. He touched down in front of the shield line and wasted no time shoving several frenzied civilians back from the exhausted Resistance troops, who seemed wholly uncertain as to whether this was a welcome change or not.

  At the shield line, the chaos was at its peak. The curses and shouts of Resistance troops were nearly as numerous as the wild shrieks from the raging civilians. Those who weren’t too busy actively holding the shield line were reaching in to apply close range stun weapons to any intruding limb or face they could reach. Further back, others were taking what limited shots they could find with ranged stun guns.

  A voluminous roar from the right reminded the entire field exactly where Drogan had elected to make his stand.

  “You gonna go make sure he doesn’t kill anybody?” Rachel asked at Jarek’s side, half-shouting to be heard over the cacophony.

  Before he could answer, one of the troops nearby chucked a small something into the mad mob, and the street thundered with an enormous cracking sound.

  The respondent cries from the crowd took on a momentary quality of startlement but clawed quickly back to blind rage with renewed fervor.

  Jarek gave Rachel one last look with his own eyes and slid his faceplate closed with a careful thought.

 
; Ready and almost willing, he slipped an arm between the two shield-bearers directly in front of him. “Excuse me, gents.”

  The glares they turned his way were almost as frightening as the writhing limbs and gnashing teeth just beyond.

  Okay, so maybe those glares weren’t even close on second thought. Especially not as they took on a strong Hey, better him than us quality and the two troops shifted just enough for Jarek to slide through without knocking them over.

  “Agh!” Jarek cried as the first pair of teeth chomped down on his left arm hard enough that something—the teeth, probably—cracked.

  He drew the chomper closer and planted a hard shove into the man’s chest.

  “Why’d it have to be zombies?” he growled to no one in particular.

  Past his initial shock and surrounded by a seemingly infinite horde of insane berserkers, he quickly gave up on any hope of doing things neatly and allowed instinct and reflex to take over.

  As sturdy as Fela’s armor was, the real threat wasn’t so much in the fists and teeth and occasional club whacks as it was in the very tangible threat of his being overwhelmed and swarmed down to the ground.

  How many incoherently bloodlusting humans would it take to literally tear him limb from limb if that happened? He wasn’t sure. But he was guessing the answer wasn’t any higher than the number currently trying. If he went down, he’d find out in short order.

  Without the Resistance line at his back, it probably would have been over in less than a minute. The poor raging bastards would have surrounded him and pressed in until no amount of strength and clever wriggling could have freed him. With the Resistance at his back, though, he only had his front to worry about. When he got in trouble on the sides, the troops sprang forward to deal with it—several times before he’d even realized he was in trouble.

  And so he fought on in the thick of it, trusting in his overdeveloped battle reflexes and in the men and women at his back.

  At some point, Alaric’s voice in his earpiece informed him that the commander had arrived with reinforcements, but that hardly seemed to matter to Jarek in the moment, stuck as he was in the heart of the shit.