The Complete Harvesters Series

by Luke R. Mitchell

  It wasn’t all bad news.

  Within the first hour, those who’d evacuated during the fight—and had apparently gotten the all clear sign since—returned to help triage the wounded, tidy up The Complex, and get to work on the considerable task of excavating the south portal. Scattered friends reunited. Order began to restore.

  Still, there were no cheers. Not with the gravity of their losses and the not-so-distant threat still looming heavy in the air.

  There were, however, firm pats on the back—and a hell of a lot of them throughout the day.

  Much as he appreciated the sentiment, Jarek couldn’t help but wish they’d stop. For one because he couldn’t remember the last time he’d been this battered and bruised. It had to be some kind of record. It hurt to move. To breathe. Hell, it hurt to even think about breathing.

  But then there was the other reason. The not-so-tiny voice in the back of his mind that had been insisting since Naga flew off that, gratifying as it had been to watch the giant space dragon turn tail after his posse had abandoned him, it was too good to be true.

  For now, though, all he could do was try to offer help where it was needed.

  Jarek was surprised to discover Krogoth and Brandt were both still alive. They barely looked it. Both seemed a bit delirious, which was understandable enough, given the number of puncture wounds Brandt had sustained and the fact that Krogoth was missing a leg and had nearly had his torso torn in two above the waist.

  The rest of Krogoth’s raknoth hadn’t made it. Nor had Nan’Dola, which everyone seemed to loosely agree put Zach in charge of things within The Complex.

  Thankfully, the bodies of the rakul appeared to remain quite dead as well. They decided to burn them anyway, just to be sure.

  A large area was quickly cleared on one of the flatter sections near Mada’s enormous body, and a healthy fire soon crackled through the piled brush and foliage, breathing plumes of dark smoke into the clear blue sky.

  Haldin, Elise, and Drogan set to the task of hauling Ogrin, Harga, and Gada onto the fire. It wasn’t pretty, and Jarek—having been denied another small hit of the Vitamin R from Drogan and thus woefully unequipped to deal with heavy lifting—was more than happy to be left out of it.

  Those soldiers and civilians who were around to witness Haldin and Elise floating the hairless lupine alien down the mountainside with telekinesis looked more than a little unsettled by the display. Which was understandable, given that Harga probably weighed a good seven-or-eight-thousand pounds.

  Jarek could practically hear their thoughts, especially those of The Complex folk, no doubt wondering what fresh manner of monsters they had to thank for their continued existence.

  He wanted to sigh. But he was too tired.

  Even with the rakul out of the picture—which he still wasn’t totally convinced about—it would be a long, long journey back to anything resembling normal. And, while he was pretty sure there weren’t even ten total raknoth left alive on Earth at this point, he was also certain the world wasn’t just about to start accepting them with open arms.

  Hell, even he was a bit afraid of Haldin and Elise. He had no idea what they were capable of—what they’d even want to do next now that the rakul were on the retreat. He’d be crazy for that not to make him slightly uneasy.

  But that was most certainly a problem for the future.

  “Why run?” Jarek asked Drogan quietly as they stood with Rachel, watching the flames lick their way across Harga’s pale, slowly charring hide. “Fraga. Shimo. Vermaga. That other Kul-bot.”

  “Kul’Prongar,” Drogan provided.

  “Prongar. Sure. The four of them and their big, bad dragon.” He looked over at Drogan, but the raknoth kept his eyes to the fire. “They could have finished us. Rache and I were about to collapse at the end there.”

  Rachel bobbed her head in tired agreement.

  “And no discredit to you guys,” he added toward Haldin and Elise, who were back up on the mountain ridge with Krogoth but might well still be hearing him anyway, “but I’m pretty sure the five of them could’ve had you too after that.”

  He actually wasn’t entirely sure about that, but the thought still bothered him.

  All he really knew right then was that his legs were shaky, his body heavy. The rakul—aside from Mada, who was far too large to move and would have to be handled afterward—were all loaded to burn, with a couple men alternately stoking the fire.

  They were done. Weren’t they?

  Mind and body alike cried for rest, and Jarek was beyond ready to give it to them. Or would be, at least, if he could just set aside the doubts that refused to quiet in his mind.

  Drogan was silent for a long while, watching his once-master’s thick hide give slow way to the fire.

  “Were you afraid the first time we fought one another?” he finally asked.

  “No,” Jarek said, a touch too quickly.

  Drogan finally peeled his eyes away from the flames to shoot him a knowing look. “No? And what about when you faced Zar’Golga in one-on-one combat?”

  Jarek swallowed, resisting the urge to touch the three long scars Golga had left on his face as a souvenir. “What’s your point?”

  “I imagine it was a forgotten novelty to you, feeling true fear in the midst of combat. Such had always been your supremacy with this.” He tapped meaningfully on Fela’s gouged chest plate.

  Jarek shrugged, unsure what to say.

  “Imagine it had not been ten years of such supremacy,” Drogan continued, “but ten-thousand. With the exception of Gada’s ascension to Kul three millennia past, this is what the rakul have known. Even longer for Naga and a few others. Can you imagine what it might feel like to watch not one, but seven, of those indestructible kin meet their ends? To come to the realization that you might shortly share their fate?” Drogan dropped his intense gaze and turned back to the fire. “Do you honestly believe you would not have thought to flee, were you in their position?”

  Jarek let Drogan’s words soak in. He glanced at Rachel, who appeared lost in her own thoughts.

  Finally he shook his head in surrender. “I don’t know.”

  It was too big a question. He was too tired to think it through, and maybe not quite arrogant enough anyway to presume to actually know how he might feel about such things after several thousand years of life and toil.

  Drogan seemed to appreciate his uncertainty. “Nor do I, truly. But I do believe we gave the rakul a strong taste of something they’d forgotten existed. Mortality. And they will not return until they are certain they may do so without risking another taste. That much, I believe.”

  Maybe it was Drogan’s conviction, or maybe Jarek was just tired and desperate to believe too, but somehow, Drogan’s words brought a quantum of peace to his thoughts.

  Finally, when Al’s pleas for Jarek to take care of himself were on the verge of growing violent, Jarek gave in and turned away from the burning rakul. Rachel, as she had since Naga had taken to the whirlwind engines he called wings, stayed with him, her staff plunking along on the dusty rocks.

  Zach and a few of his men pulled up with Alaric, Michael, and Chambers just as they reached the battered road that wrapped around the mountain to the lot and the north portal.

  “You look like you could use a ride,” Alaric said.

  “And a nap,” Michael added, coming forward to wrap Rachel in a hug and pat Jarek on the shoulder.

  Chambers took in their dirty faces with a light grimace. “And some medical attention, maybe.”

  “Hear, hear,” Al chimed from Fela’s speakers.

  Zach surveyed the operations with a deep frown before finally looking at Jarek and Rachel. “I don’t know whether to curse you for bringing those things here, or to thank you for sending them away.”

  Alaric spit in the dirt, and Jarek was actually happy to realize the older man was chewing—if only because it was some sign of Alaric’s old self emerging.

  “They’d’ve come here on their
own eventually,” Alaric said.

  “And I’d say the raknoth and our two newest super heroes over there deserve the brunt of the thanks,” Rachel added with a pointed look at Zach, like she knew she was telling a vegan to eat a bloody steak and she was too damn tired to care about it.

  Zach gave a noncommittal grunt, started to shuffle off, and paused. “Thank you. Both of you.” He looked up to where Johnny and Haldin were standing together on the mountain ridge and shook his head. “Them too, I guess.”

  Jarek didn’t bother pointing out that Zach should probably tell them himself. He was too tired, and the nearby truck looked too inviting.

  “Why don’t I take you guys back inside to get some food and rest?” Michael said.

  “Let me,” Alaric said, already moving around toward the driver’s seat.

  Michael shrugged, and he and Chambers bade them happy napping and went to go see how they could help.

  Alaric didn’t speak until they were halfway back around the mountain.

  “I’m not one to call a pony a horse, but it’s possible you two might’ve saved the planet today.”

  “Hardly,” Rachel said. “We were just—”

  “Just doing our civic duty, really,” Jarek said with a sleepy smile.

  She gave him a gentle jab in the ribs. “I was gonna say dangling a big juicy target to keep them busy until everyone else could do the important stuff. Like bring out the big gun. Or rise from the dead with superpowers.”

  “Ah. Yeah, that too.”

  Alaric shook his head. “If you two split your egos and shared the average, I think you’d both be about right.”

  They were apparently both too tired to come up with any response to that.

  Jarek must’ve nodded off, because it seemed like next he knew, they were pulling up outside the massive open door at the entrance to The Complex.

  Rachel murmured a bleary thanks to Alaric and hopped out of the truck. Jarek did the same and was sliding his armored bulk through the slightly cramped space to follow her when Alaric twisted around and caught him by the forearm.

  Something heavy passed between them, though neither of them spoke for a long moment, and Jarek couldn’t have said exactly what it was.

  “You did good, son.” Alaric finally said. He tilted his head after Rachel. “Both of you. But the job’s not done.”

  Jarek gave a silent nod, his heart racing for some reason he couldn’t quite put a finger on. Maybe it was the intensity in Alaric’s eyes. Maybe it was simply the exhaustion.

  “You rest up. God knows you’ve earned it. But when the dust starts to clear, we’re still gonna need you. Both of you. We’re gonna need leaders. And whether you like it or not, you and Rachel just pinned your pretty faces front and center on the banner of Team Earth.”

  Jarek opened his mouth to argue—wanted to point out that he was about as qualified as a sack of frozen turds when it came to being any manner of leader. But he couldn’t. The words wouldn’t seem to come.

  For one, they wouldn’t have been true. A shining example of commendable leadership he was not—and probably never would be—but after everything that had happened, he couldn’t pretend he was incapable. Not to Alaric. Not when Jarek’s taking the reins was exactly what had set them on the course to losing Seth.

  And then there was the other part of the equation. That tiny, naïve fragment that still clung on from his teenage years. The one who’d wanted to save the world from itself. The one who’d been so audacious as to think he actually could.

  He’d learned his lessons. He’d spent a good decade trying to drown that nonsense in a steady stream of booze and blood and night after night spent alone with Al in his self-inflicted exile. And now here he was, feeling those same audacious aspirations creeping in again.

  Was it really different this time?

  He was older—that was a given. But wiser?

  He shook his head. “Man, I just wanted to get my damn suit back…”

  Alaric tipped his head, the ghost of a smile on his lips. “And I just wanted to put a stop to the raknoth taking our people and crops for their own all those years ago. But here we are.”

  “Yeah, well, if it’s all the same to you, I think I’d rather ‘here’ be swaddled in soft blankets on the other side of a solid meal right now.”

  Alaric’s smile grew by a fraction, and he gestured for Jarek to have on with it.

  Jarek paused halfway out of the truck door. “I’m sorry you lost Seth,” he said quietly. “I’m sorry I couldn’t stop it.”

  Alaric nodded, his gaze falling. “I know. Me too.”

  Silence hung between them, mournful and weighty, but also companionable.

  “Get some rest,” Alaric said. “Then get back on your feet. Plenty left that needs doin’.”

  Jarek gave a lazy salute and slid out of the truck. “Yes, sir.”

  Alaric only fixed him on the end of a surly stare for a few seconds before turning the truck around and heading back out.

  Inside, The Complex was a bustle of activity. Men and women hurried to and fro with toolboxes and bundles of wire and such, attempting to repair the extensive damage wrought by Vermaga’s inside men. Others were doing what they could to treat the wounded, or transporting those who were beyond their abilities toward the medical wing. Still more just nervously hopped from one group to the next, swapping news with wide eyes.

  Several of those wide eyes fixed on Jarek and Rachel as they made their way to medical. Two Resistance soldiers stepped aside to clear the way for them. Then a small group of Complex residents. Then, before Jarek knew it, the entire busy tunnel was parting before them.

  When Jarek’s emphatic carry on gestures failed, he and Rachel instead hurried through the proffered pathway posthaste.

  “This is kinda freaking me out,” Rachel murmured quietly, knowing he’d hear her anyway.

  He couldn’t say he completely disagreed. Having been walking around in a one-of-a-kind exosuit for half his life, Jarek had gotten fairly used to being stared at. Rachel, who routinely walked around with what was basically a wizard’s staff—and was far from being hard on the eyes, to boot—had probably done the same. But this was different.

  They weren’t just stealing glances at the freaky weirdos. They looked… He didn’t know what. Grateful, maybe? In awe?

  Whatever it was, it felt weird, and he was glad when they reached the medical ward. Glad, at least, until one of the medics led them to Pryce.

  Even at his best, the old man had never exactly looked sturdy, but now…

  He looked so fragile, lying there on the cot. His face was scraped and bruised, and while he appeared to be asleep or unconscious, something about his resting pallor and pained expression gave Jarek the feeling that the damage extended well below the surface. How could it not, after having been hammered in the torso by a Kul?

  “How bad is it?” Jarek asked the medic who’d led them in, keeping his voice low.

  The slight wince on her face gave him half his answer before she spoke. “We’re optimistic he’ll pull through, but it’s not good. Most of the ribs on his right side are broken, one of them punctured the lung, and his heart nearly gave out.” Her wince deepened. “We’re also concerned there may be some spinal cord damage, but it’s too early to tell. We’re not equipped for that kind of thing, but we’ll do our best.”

  Jarek couldn’t seem to do anything but stare. Rachel took his hand and squeezed.

  “He’s one tough old guy,” the medic added. “It’ll be okay. Best to let him rest for now, though.”

  At Rachel’s light pressure, Jarek finally started to turn away.

  But then Pryce groaned and cracked an eye open.

  “J—Jare…”

  Jarek dropped to a knee beside the cot and gently pressed the hand Pryce was trying to raise back to his side. “It’s okay, Pryce. I’m right here.”

  Pryce rattled a few breaths, face scrunched in pain, clearly trying to say something.

 
“Win?” he rasped out.

  “You bet your wrinkly ass, we did,” Jarek said, trying to hold a smile. “Thanks to our resident tinkerer blowing a few Kul heads off, I might add. You did good out there, you old goat.”

  Pryce just closed his eye, looking a touch more at peace, and nodded back to sleep.

  After that, things were blurry. They found some food. Forced it down. Jarek couldn’t have said two minutes later what he’d just eaten. He was too busy limping through the tunnels for his and Rachel’s little broom closet bedroom and the blissful promise of cool, quiet peace.

  He collapsed into their meager pile of blankets with Rachel.

  The floor was hard. The blankets musty.

  He pulled Rachel to him.

  The Complex safe. Pryce alive.

  The rakul gone.

  In the darkness, Rachel began to laugh—the kind of laugh that started out almost sounding as if she were crying. But the laugh grew, and soon her body was shaking with it.

  There was a moment of concern, a moment of wondering what the hell was so funny and whether or not she might have cracked, but then he was laughing too, not really understanding why, not particularly caring that each laugh set half his body to aching pains, some sharp, others lingering.

  He just pulled her closer—their bodies silently shaking together now—and decided it was the most content he’d ever been.

  After that, sleep came swiftly.

  Some indeterminate time later, Jarek woke with a start, expecting blaring alarms and gleaming fangs and roaring dragons.

  All he saw was the dim shape of Rachel, her chin resting on his chest, gazing up at him. He groaned at the pain his waking body greeted him with and reached to find her cheek with his hand.

  The single light flicked on above them—Rachel’s telekinetic doing, he assumed—and he gladly took in the sight of her lovely hazel eyes.

  There was something in them. A kind of softness he wasn’t accustomed to seeing. It halted the flippant greeting working its way to the edge of his sleepy tongue.

  “I do, you know,” she said softly.

  He didn’t immediately grasp what she was talking about. When it hit him, though, he couldn’t keep his face from pulling into a big stupid smile—a really big one, judging by the pain it drew from his bruised face and cracked lips.