Red Gambit: Book One of the Harvesters Series

by Luke R. Mitchell

  He stifled a manic laugh. Pryce would have just said the thought rattling obscenely in his mind.

  “He finally paid the Pryce for it,” he murmured, and clenched his jaw against the pressure of hot tears. “Goddammit.”

  “I do hope he’s okay,” Al said quietly in his ear.

  That made two of them. He’d tried Pryce’s comm half a dozen times after the initial attack and another half a dozen times since they’d jetted out of Deadwood. The fact that he had yet to receive any answer didn’t mean that Pryce was dead. Neither did Mosen saying that Pryce’s blood was on his hands.

  But those things didn’t inspire confidence, either. If his experience in the post-Catastrophe world had taught him anything, it was that stories had bad endings a lot more often than good.

  None of that stopped him from hoping that Pryce was still alive. He just recognized the hope for what it was.

  The one (and maybe only) bright side was that they’d technically succeeded at their original mission: they’d recovered Alaric. Assuming things didn’t somehow fall to shit in the next hour, and assuming Alaric was stable and willing to get them to Hux’s safe place, he might actually get Fela back.

  And once he had Fela, if Pryce was alive, he’d find him. He’d cut the entire damn Red Fortress to ribbons if he had to.

  With that resolution, he stepped back into the cockpit and settled into the pilot’s seat.

  The trip clock updated by a couple of minutes. Just under an hour left.

  In the copilot’s seat beside him, Alaric gazed out the windshield with faraway eyes. For a while, they sat in silence. Behind them, Michael seemed to have slipped into an opioid-enhanced doze.

  To Jarek’s surprise, Alaric broke the silence. “I reckon you might’ve had a point.”

  He looked over at Alaric. His expression hadn’t changed.

  “I’ve been running,” Alaric said. “For five goddamn years, I’ve been running, and for the life of me, I don’t know where I was hopin’ it’d take me.”

  “There are worse ways you could have spent those five years, man. You were helping people.”

  “I was. But not the ones who really needed it.”

  “I’m sure that’s not how the people you’ve kept safe see it. Matter of perspective, I guess.”

  Alaric turned to him, his gaze intense. “And what do you see when you look at my son from your perspective?”

  Christ, how was he supposed to answer that? Somehow, “a sadistic monster” didn’t really seem like the right thing to say. “What happened to him, it’s not your fault, Alaric. We’re dealing with shit we have no comprehension of when it comes to the raknoth.”

  “True enough,” Alaric said. “Doesn’t forgive our mistakes, though.”

  “If you’re not happy with the direction you’re running, there’s no reason you can’t change course.”

  “You get that from a fortune cookie?”

  He smiled. “Just a snippet from the vault of good life advice I can’t ever seem to follow myself.”

  “Mmm,” Alaric said, possibly with the faintest trace of a smile.

  “And for what it’s worth, that business about shooting your son back in Newark—sorry about that.”

  There it was: the deepest, surliest frown he’d ever seen. Apparently, all the others had been warm-ups.

  “I just, uh, didn’t really see it all playing out this way. I mean”—he spread his hands—“how was I supposed to know when he’s going by Mosen?”

  Alaric’s frown didn’t soften. “Mosen was his mother’s maiden name. I imagine the Overlord has him going by the name as some kind of sick joke after what he made Seth do.”

  Jarek ran a hand through the back of his hair, searching for some reasonable response. “Right. Makes sense. I guess. I, uh—”

  Behind them, Rachel gave a hoarse groan and shifted on the cot. Bless her sleepy little heart.

  “I better go check on her. Good talk.” He stood and made haste toward the cabin.

  “Jarek.”

  He froze and turned back.

  Alaric gave him a deep nod. “Thank you. For what you said a minute ago.”

  Jarek nodded back. He went to check on Rachel feeling confused and shaken and maybe just a little bit helpful.

  Twenty

  A hand caressed Rachel’s cheek, warm and gentle in its touch if not in its texture.

  “Nap time’s over, sweetheart.”

  She blinked and squinted through bleary eyes to find Jarek Slater’s stupid grin hovering over her. Why the hell did that make her want to smile back? And on top of that, why were they back in Jarek’s ship? And in the air?

  “What the hell happened?”

  “You totally snoozed through a whole big battle,” he said. “Not cool, by the way, but probably forgivable on account of all the tranquilizers and everything.”

  Too disoriented and apparently hungover on tranquilizers to formulate a clever comeback, she simply groaned and rolled over.

  He patted her back. “There, there. We’re almost back to Newark. Just wanted to make sure you’re ready to move.”

  From the feel of it, “ready” was going to be a stretch anytime in the near future, but she pulled herself up.

  The feeble glow of Newark was in sight when she sidled into the cockpit a few minutes later. The few dull patches of poorly lit browns and grays that parted the thick darkness below them looked about as shitty as she felt.

  “So, uh,” Jarek said, “can someone tell me where it is we’re actually going?”

  Alaric glanced back. “It’s still the old terminal?”

  Michael nodded his sleepy confirmation from the bench opposite her. Alaric dropped a nav pin on the map northeast of Newark. Almost immediately, Al began banking the ship northward and gaining altitude, skirting around Newark nice and high in the night sky.

  “You okay, Spongehead?” she asked.

  The wrap on Michael’s arm was thorough, and he looked entirely more zonked than usual.

  He shot her a happy thumbs-up.

  “Mikey’s feeling great,” Jarek said. “No worries.”

  “What happened? And what the hell did you give him?”

  Michael held his bandaged arm up. “I got shot, Rache.”

  “Annnd we gave him something for the pain before we dug the bullet out,” Jarek added.

  But he’d been wearing her catcher, hadn’t he?

  “How did—”

  Her fingers brushed the small disk clipped to the front of her belt.

  She looked at Michael. “Why the hell weren’t you wearing the catcher?”

  “Asked him the same question,” Jarek said. “He had to leave you unattended to grab Alaric. He was worried you might take a stray bullet or something.”

  Michael bobbed his head agreeably.

  “Jesus. I pass out for a couple of hours, and all hell breaks loose.”

  She closed her eyes and breathed out some of the tension. It was done. At least everyone was still alive.

  Jarek was watching her when she opened her eyes again.

  “Not to be a bother, but you guys mind strapping in for landing?”

  She rolled her eyes at what she assumed was an unnecessary precaution. She should have known better, coming from Jarek.

  Once their harnesses had each clicked, he brought them down fast enough that her stomach found its way into her throat. Removed from the city lights, it was hard to tell how close they were to the ground, but he waited until well after what seemed like the too-late zone to pull them out of the dive.

  Her stomach lurched into her pelvis before settling back into place, and then they were skimming along over the surface of a river that was nearly too dark to make out. After a few more minutes of bobbing and weaving, they came to a hover in an enormous lot filled to the brim with rusty old shipping containers.

  “Fun ride,” she grumbled.

  “Not the first time a lady’s said that to me.” Jarek extended his fist to Alaric for a bump
.

  Alaric gave the fist a stern frown, turned back to the windshield, and gestured to a spot where several of the dilapidated containers formed a nice alcove. “That’ll do just fine.”

  “Thank you, Wild Bill.” Jarek retracted the unbumped fist and guided the ship gently into the parking space.

  No one spoke as they left the ship. Michael shuffled across the lot at the head of the pack, apparently recognizing where he was despite the drugs and the monotonous repetition of their surroundings. At least his head seemed to be marginally clearing now that he was up and moving.

  After a quarter of a mile or so, he and Alaric veered toward an unassuming, rustred shipping container. It didn’t look remotely different than its neighbors, but they seemed to recognize it somehow, maybe by the serial code printed on its side.

  The container’s doors weren’t locked, and inside, it appeared to be empty—“appeared” being the operative word, she assumed.

  Her assumption turned out to be accurate.

  Michael crossed to the back wall of the container, felt around for several seconds, and slid a small hidden panel aside to reveal a dimly lit keypad. Alaric pulled the container door shut behind them as Michael tapped a sequence into the pad and slid the false wall panel back in place, leaving them standing in darkness too thick to see one another.

  Nothing happened.

  “So, uh, granted I’m not an expert on secret hideouts,” Jarek said after half a minute had stretched by, “but I thought super-secret access panels were usually supposed to open doors or, ya know, do something.”

  “Double verification protocol,” Michael said. “There’s the code, then the IR cameras, and they’re probably calling up the chain right now to check about you guys.”

  “Isn’t that triple—agh, never mind. This is why you Resistance guys never get anything done. Too busy running around playing spy-party grab-ass.”

  She allowed herself a small smile in the darkness. It faded a moment later when Michael’s words set in and she realized the Resistance goons were probably watching.

  “Jesus,” Jarek said a minute later, “We should have brought drinks and made it a—”

  A series of tiny pops sounded, followed by the steady hum of an electric motor. A line of light appeared across the floor and stretched into a rectangular opening as two sections of the floor slid apart to reveal a descending concrete stairwell.

  “Maybe you can talk your way into a drink down there,” Michael said.

  “I won’t hold my breath,” Jarek said, as Michael started down the steps with Alaric a few steps behind. “I’ve heard these people aren’t my biggest fans.”

  “Guess I buy that,” she said, “given that this doesn’t look like a brothel or a bar.”

  Jarek held up a finger as he composed his retort. She turned away to follow the others down the stairs, hiding her grin.

  “Hey!” he called after her. “I never pay for the sex!”

  The stairwell was uncomfortably cramped. No one would ever dream of calling her tall, but she still had to duck her head to avoid the ceiling. God knew how Jarek was doing behind her. A pang of claustrophobic anxiety clutched at her chest when the hidden door began sliding shut behind them.

  The room at the bottom was considerably more open than the stairwell but far too cramped to be described as anything close to spacious or comfortable. Four men were waiting for them, all dressed casually in jeans and T-shirts and pretty much looking the part of everyday citizens, minus the guns and armored vests. Aside from the few appreciative glances they turned her way, they stared at Alaric with something like awe.

  At the end of the firing line stood a beautiful woman with raven-dark hair and light brown skin that somehow glowed even under the sterile lighting. Her scarlet Henley clung to a build that looked like it had some ass-kicking potential under the hood.

  Beside her, Jarek was looking at the woman as if he’d be happy to volunteer for said ass-kicking.

  “So there you have it, boys,” the woman said in a commanding tone, the fine line of her brow arching in an amused expression, “just in case any of you were wondering—Jarek Slater earns his lays.”

  Apparently, they’d been listening.

  The firing squad snickered.

  Jarek ran a hand through the back of his hair. “And satisfies them, for what it’s worth. You know, within reason.”

  It really never ended. Rachel stifled a smile.

  The woman inclined her head toward him, still amused. “Your reputation precedes you, Mr. Slater”—she turned to Alaric—“though not as much as Alaric Weston’s precedes him.”

  To Rachel’s surprise, the woman stepped forward to hug Alaric.

  “It’s good to see you again,” she said quietly as she pulled away.

  “You’re a sight for sore eyes, Lea,” Alaric said, a warm smile cracking through his usual stoic visage.

  “I’ll second that,” Michael said as Lea turned to embrace him next.

  This hug was longer and, she thought, more intimate. She couldn’t quite make out what Lea murmured in Michael’s ear, but she almost rolled her eyes at the awkward pat her brother laid on Lea’s back before she pulled away.

  Smooth move, Spongehead.

  “And you must be Rachel Cross,” Lea said, turning to face her. “So nice to finally meet you.”

  She gave Lea a polite smile, not particularly enjoying being on this side of the catch-up game.

  “We should move, Lea,” Michael said.

  Lea nodded, looking back to him and Alaric. “The commanders will want to see you two right away. We’ll probably have to wait until the morning to gather the full council. Most of the base is asleep.” Lea glanced at her and Jarek. “We can show you guys to the guest quarters if you’d like to get some sleep yourselves.”

  Jarek shrugged. “Whatever gets this party moving, sister.”

  Lea turned her questioning look to Rachel. She mirrored Jarek’s shrug. “I’m with stupid here.”

  The corner of Jarek’s mouth twitched up, and a few of the men chuckled.

  They set off down the lone hallway leading out of the small room. Like the room they’d just left, the hallway was composed of cinder-block walls and smoother concrete floors, giving it a cold, hard feel under the buzzing lights. The entire place was a claustrophobic’s nightmare. They passed by a few rooms before coming to a slightly more open space that acted as a hub between multiple hallways and a common room of sorts.

  The few Resistance members who were still awake and lounging in the small, sparsely decorated common room stared openly as they passed. Most of the stares were directed toward the legend himself, Alaric Weston, but she and Jarek got a few baffled looks as well. It didn’t seem like the kind of place that saw many new faces, and between Jarek’s ninja-commando aesthetic and her glyphed staff clanking along on the concrete floor, she supposed they made fairly odd strangers at that.

  In the next hallway, they paused in front of an important-looking set of wooden double doors.

  “I’ll fetch the commanders,” Lea said to Michael and Alaric. She gestured to two of their escorts. “Please take our guests to their quarters and see to it they’re fed if they’re hungry.” She turned to them. “I’ll see you two tomorrow.”

  “And here I was thinking I didn’t have anything to look forward to,” Jarek said, giving her that stupid roguish grin of his.

  Lea’s smile looked as if it might have come at least partially against her will, but she quickly pulled it under control and gave him a polite tilt of her head.

  Rachel refrained from rolling her eyes. Jarek was one of those guys with that subtly assholish magnetism that made girls want to sleep with him somewhere on a fundamental level well below the lines of social stigma and self-respect. Worse, he knew it. For some reason, it irritated the shit out of her.

  A couple of hallways and some tense silence later, their escorts deposited them in guest quarters that were as cramped as the rest of the base. At least the
rooms were adorned by a few carpets and boring pictures. It almost made them seem a tad warmer than the bland halls outside.

  Their escorts returned with sandwiches a few minutes later, and soon after that, Rachel sat on one twin-sized bed with a contentedly full belly while Jarek finished his sandwich on the other. She pulled out Michael’s nearly complete bullet catcher to work on the final touches as they awaited news from him.

  “You’re claustrophobic, aren’t you?” Jarek asked after a while, not looking up from the comm holo game he was occupying himself with.

  “No,” she said too quickly. “No, I’m fine. Why?”

  “You’ve looked around at the walls every single time you’ve paused from your enchanting.”

  So he’d been paying attention.

  “And you’re creepily watching me because …”

  “You’re easy to watch.”

  Oh. She looked at him uncertainly.

  He killed his holo and grinned at her. “Don’t deflect. You can’t hide your fears from me.”

  “I’m not claustrophobic.”

  Not claustrophobic enough to label herself, anyway. That was her story, and she was sticking to it.

  He pulled back the blanket on his bed, his grin widening. “Let’s test, then. Come crawl under this tightly tucked blanket with me.”

  “You know I’m not gonna do that.”

  And here it came …

  “Ha!” he cried. “Undeniable proof!”

  She smiled. “Because clearly it’s impossible that a woman wouldn’t otherwise be dying to crawl into bed with Jarek Slater to be ‘satisfied within reason,’ right?”

  “At least implausible. And I might even be willing to consider going beyond reason for you.”

  She snorted. “Well, if that doesn’t make a girl feel special …”

  They sank back into a comfortable silence. When she was focused and ready, she gathered the will and the energy to empower the last glyph on the catcher. She let it flow, holding the enchantment tight in her mind until her head buzzed with the effort. Then it was done, and that was that.

  Now she just had to give it to Michael and make damn sure the Spongehead never even thought about taking it off anywhere near a dangerous situation.

  She opened her eyes carefully, consciously refraining from looking around at the cramped walls this time.