Red Gambit: Book One of the Harvesters Series

by Luke R. Mitchell

  Her startled brain began fitting the pieces together. The dark gray thing she could only assume was Fela dropped three men effortlessly, almost gently, into crumpled heaps in the space of two seconds. Fela (and presumably Jarek inside) continued down the hall without a noticeable pause.

  Then he saw her.

  At first, she wasn’t sure he’d stop at all. The thing dug in its heels and skidded to halt near the next hallway, leaving small gouges in the concrete floor.

  “Jarek?”

  The dark gray surfaces of the suit looked like something out of an anatomy book. Instead of the bulky, angular armor she’d been expecting, Fela was smooth and round, resembling a well-muscled man several inches taller and wider than Jarek.

  In some spots, the dark gray material was bundled into fibers like those of a skinned muscle. In others, particularly at the shoulders and along the torso and thighs, a smoother, lighter-gray material emerged like armor plating.

  She recognized the smaller of the two swords crisscrossed over the back of the exosuit and the gun belt strapped above its hips. That was definitely Jarek in there, which meant several things, not the least of which was that either the Resistance had been lying to Michael about Fela’s whereabouts, or Michael had been lying to her and Jarek this entire time.

  The thought made her feel hollow inside. She fixed her eyes on the dark slit across Fela’s face plate and waited.

  A voice growled out. “Did you know?”

  The voice was unmistakably Jarek’s, though it was a shade deeper and minutely garbled through the speakers.

  “No. I had no idea, Jarek.”

  He seemed to consider that. Then he gave a slight nod and turned back for the exit.

  “Wait!”

  His armored form slowed.

  More shouts were coming now from multiple directions. She wasn’t even sure what she wanted to say. “What happened to needing—”

  A gunshot barked to her right, painfully loud in the enclosed space. She whipped around. Alaric was yanking the shooter’s gun hand down and away from Jarek, but other men and women were spilling into the common room now, most of them armed. And now that the first shot had been fired, the others didn’t hesitate.

  Jarek sprinted down the exit hallway, moving far faster than she’d ever seen a human move. She thought she saw multiple shots ping off Fela’s back and into the surrounding walls, but he didn’t seem to pay them any mind.

  He disappeared around the corner at the far end of the hall, and several Resistance men and women ran to follow.

  Two men to her right were alternately eyeing her and looking in the direction Jarek had disappeared. One of them stepped toward her. “You’re gonna have to come w—”

  “Touch me,” she said, “and I’ll put you through that wall.”

  His eyes widened and his nostrils flared, but he and his partner both took a step back, hands in plain sight.

  She spun on her heels and tromped down the hall Jarek had come from.

  If Fela had been here all along—if Michael had known all along—then she could maybe understand why Jarek was pissed enough to blow out of here like that. But if he’d taken it out on Michael … And if Michael had deliberately lied to her …

  For now, she just needed to make sure Michael was okay.

  She picked up her pace, following the trail of sullen and groaning Resistance fighters Jarek had strewn in his wake. When she found Michael in the hallway a minute later, she breathed a sigh of relief.

  He appeared unharmed aside from the swollen, reddening patch of dark skin at the outer edge of his left eye. He was alternatively blinking his eyes as if to clear his vision, but he quickly stopped when he spotted her.

  She didn’t need to ask. His expression told her everything.

  “You knew all along.”

  He nodded. “I thought I could get him to join us if I showed him the good we could do. The plan was always to give Fela back. At least I thought it was. The council had other ideas.”

  “You lied to me,” she whispered.

  Because that’s what it boiled down to: whatever the reasons, Michael had lied. And he’d lied to her.

  “No,” he croaked. “No, Rache, I wasn’t—I didn’t mean to …”

  She could see he was only beginning to fully register what he’d done.

  “I’m sorry, Rache.”

  She wasn’t sure how to respond, so she gave a curt nod. “I’m going to help him get Pryce back.”

  She could feel his unspoken protest behind her, but she didn’t pause to give him time to voice his opinions.

  Michael, her naive, do-gooder little Spongehead, had lied to her. It didn’t sound right even in her head. She didn’t need the fingers of one hand to count off the number of people she really trusted in this world, and Michael was at the top of that list. Or he had been, at least.

  Maybe it didn’t change much, really. He was still her brother. She would still put her life on the line for him right this moment without a second thought.

  But that didn’t mean it didn’t hurt like hell.

  After her family had been taken from her, when John Carver had found her and given her a home, she’d been a broken, frightened thing. John might have found her, but Michael had saved her. To an outsider, it would have appeared that she’d been the one taking care of him. In truth, she knew it had been the other way around.

  Michael had helped restore her to something resembling a whole person. And even after he’d grown up big and strong, he’d always remained her precious Spongehead, the one person she could truly trust, the linchpin that held it all together. But now that linchpin felt eroded, corrupted.

  She needed to focus on something she could control right now, something she could fix. Something like making sure Pryce didn’t become another casualty of this mess.

  Jarek had also been lied to. She got that. But it didn’t make her any less pissed that he’d attacked her brother, given the finger to teamwork, and run off by himself.

  She took a roundabout way back toward the council room to avoid the growing crowd. Alaric was there among several others, including Nelken and the two commanders she’d interrupted earlier.

  Alaric, Nelken, and one of the other commanders, a short, strong-looking black woman, were the only ones who didn’t look as if they thought the sky might be falling.

  Alaric spotted her and stepped to meet her at the mouth of the hallway, but Nelken broke away and planted himself between them. “Ms. Cross—”

  She let some of her anger free, and a sudden wind swept through the tight hallway, ruffling hair and clothes, among other things—Nelken’s resolve, for instance. The commander took a small step back, hands raised in peace.

  “I have a friend to track down and at least one ass to kick,” Rachel said quietly, “so if you’d kindly get the fuck out of my way …”

  Nelken glanced at Alaric, who shrugged, a small smile creeping onto his face.

  “Delightful,” Nelken said. “Now if you don’t mind stowing the attitude for one minute, maybe we can talk about our next move. Alaric’s already filled me in about Pryce. I assume that’s where Slater’s headed?”

  She stared dumbly as she tried to decide if she’d been out of line or if Nelken’s response should make her even more pissed.

  “I need to get over there,” she finally said. “He can’t take them all on and protect Pryce at the same time. I need a ship.”

  Alaric nodded his agreement.

  Nelken scratched at his square jaw, thinking. “This might be the time to move on Hux’s safe, while the Reds are busy.” He glanced at her. “I can’t spare our only working ship, but I can give you a vehicle and a small team.”

  “You’re gonna help him? You’re not mad?”

  “Of course I am,” he said, his pale eyes hardening. “We can’t let Slater’s actions drop. But now isn’t the time to squabble. We have an opening. We should take it.”

  Fair enough.

  A ship would’ve bee
n considerably faster, and she wasn’t crazy about the idea of unknown Resistance fighters watching her back. But any vehicle was better than nothing, and having a couple of gun hands along might not be the worst thing in the world.

  “Okay,” she said, “let’s do it then.”

  “I’ll go with her,” came Michael’s voice from behind.

  “Me too,” Lea called. She was hovering close to Michael as if she were afraid he might keel over.

  Nelken’s expression hardened as he focused on Michael. “You are going to have a long chat with me when this is done about how Slater miraculously stumbled upon that exo.”

  Michael didn’t argue or defend himself. He just gave a small nod, his eyes grave. As betrayed as she felt right now, she had to give it to him: he wasn’t shirking the responsibility for any of his actions.

  Nelken stared at Michael until he appeared satisfied. “Very well, then.” He looked at Alaric. “You’re ready to move?”

  Alaric fumbled a pouch out of his jacket pocket. “Reckon I better be.” He shoved a little wad of green leaves into his mouth and began chewing.

  Nelken nodded. “Good. The teams should all be loaded up soon.”

  Alaric frowned. “Still not convinced it wouldn’t be better to stick with one truck.”

  “It’s a small enough force.” Nelken didn’t sound absolutely convinced himself. “Better to have backup and options if you’re spotted.”

  Rachel leaned forward, interjecting herself. “We’d better get moving if we want to get to Pryce’s in time to matter.”

  “Right,” Nelken said. He looked at the three of them as if he’d just had a thought. “Perhaps you should take the skipper.”

  “It’s only seated for two,” Lea said.

  “We’re small,” Rachel said. “We’ll figure it out. Let’s go.”

  “Guess we’ll see you back here, then,” Michael said to Alaric and Nelken.

  That was assuming all of their plans went off without a hitch. Still, she didn’t mind the little bit of optimism.

  “You’re sure you don’t wanna stick with Alaric?” she said quietly to Michael as they hurried down the next hallway. “You’ve been pretty hell-bent on finding that nest thing.”

  “We can’t abandon Jarek now. And Pryce might not even be in danger right now if I’d just … Rache, I—”

  “—fucked up,” she finished for him. “I’ll say it for you, since you’re so scared of the big words.”

  He nodded, his face tight. “I did. I’m sorry.”

  She sighed. “I know you are.”

  It was pretty much what she’d expected him to say, but it was still nice to hear him say it—a small confirmation that he was still her Michael, even if he’d scuffed his shiny surface.

  She stepped behind him to leave room for a man and woman to pass by in the other direction. “Let’s just get over there before Jarek does something crazy.”

  “That’s a pretty tall order.”

  She smiled despite herself. He had a point. She just hoped Pryce was still okay.

  A few minutes later, the three of them were climbing onto the narrow saddle of the skipper, which looked a bit like a motorcycle that had sprouted stubby wings. With its four little electric motors, it was more or less a tiny version of an airship—one that was much easier to fall off of, but that risk seemed well worth it right now in light of the added speed.

  They straddled the skipper, Michael at the controls in front and Lea sandwiched between him and her. It was a tight fit, and Rachel had to resort to tucking her staff to her side like a lance, but it worked.

  Michael brought the skipper jerkily off the ground, and she stifled a cry of dismay at the small taste of how hazardous this ride was going to be. She clutched at Lea, and Michael guided them out of the underground garage.

  As they tore off toward Newark through the dark night, she had all she could do to keep from disturbing their balance while desperately hoping they weren’t already too late.

  Twenty-Three

  “For the five-hundredth time,” Jarek said, shaking his head, “drop it, Al! You weren’t even here for all this shit. Unless you two finished merging …”

  “We—umm, I did, sir. I dare say it looks like I’ve missed quite the adventure. But I still don’t see why we couldn’t apologize to the Resistance once Pryce is safe.”

  He rubbed at his eyes. “Jesus, it never ends. Eye on the prize, buddy. Focus up!”

  They’d be to Pryce’s shop in a few minutes, and his plan hadn’t evolved beyond kicking the door in and beating everyone inside to bloody pulps (excluding Pryce, of course).

  What made it worse was that he was about ninety-eight percent sure he was walking straight into a trap. Why else would the Red King have kept Pryce in his shop instead of dragging him back to the Red Fortress?

  Sure, he probably would have preferred Jarek to have called back by the end of the allotted hour with the location of his goods, but the fact that he’d made no effort to conceal their location meant he was ready and willing to handle any half-cocked rescue attempts. Which was exactly what this was.

  At least Jarek would have no shortage of people to hit. Who said he wasn’t an optimist?

  But Al’s comments continued to nibble at him.

  “So explain this to me, Al. They powered you down and locked you up, and you still wanna help them?”

  “Sir, we both know that very few people think of me as anything other than software. It was an understandable action on their part. I don’t like how they treated you, but they are trying to clear the way for the world to get back on its feet. There’s no reason we can’t be friends.”

  Jarek barked a short laugh. “Yeah, we’ve never heard that one before, right? Remember the Iron Eagles? It’s not like the Resistance has a prayer of ever actually winning this war against the raknoth, anyway.”

  “Certainly not without you, sir.”

  “Flattery will get you nowhere, Mr. Robot. And besides, I’m not sure beating the raknoth even matters at this point.”

  “Jesus,” Al said in a nearly perfect imitation of Jarek. “It never ends.”

  “I hate it when you do that.”

  He focused as they drew close enough to spot the dark outline of a medium-sized ship in the park beside Pryce’s place. “Game time, Al.”

  Al brought the ship to a stationary hover at the northern edge of the park. “I’m picking up thirteen life forms inside, sir.”

  “Christ, how’s that for lucky?”

  “Two more at the front entrance, and at least two more still on board the ship.”

  One of those seventeen was presumably Pryce, which left him at a square sixteen on one.

  Great.

  He’d fought against worse odds with Fela and won, but one of those blips Al saw was the Red King. He was pretty sure that tipped the odds away from his favor.

  Too bad Rachel wasn’t here to help him do this without getting Pryce shot. But he couldn’t turn back now. Even if he could, he wasn’t entirely sure she’d still be with him now that he’d decked Michael and blown out of there.

  It was just him and Al, just as it had always been.

  He withdrew two flashbangs from his locker of goodies and tucked them into his gun belt. He eyed the Big Whacker, then decided against it. He had Fela’s “small” sword strapped on already, and speed was going to be key here.

  “All right. Let’s see what we can do about these numbers. Get me over the sentries at the front.”

  “Of course, sir.”

  Al inched the ship forward, dropping the boarding ramp before Jarek had to ask. The two Reds posted at Pryce’s front door were already raising their weapons as Jarek leaped from the boarding ramp.

  He landed on the closer of the two and drove him to the ground with a disturbing combination of snaps and wet crunching sounds. A muffled cry of agony escaped from beneath the armored hand he’d clamped over the Red’s mouth. He punched the poor bastard in the side of the head and spran
g forward to slap aside the second Red’s rifle.

  Without Fela, the blow would have bought him a moment to close the distance on the guy. With Fela’s added strength, the backhand broke bones, tore the rifle free of the Red’s grip, and nearly sent him tumbling to the ground.

  He grabbed the Red by his armored vest. Resisting the urge to throw him through the window of the building across the street, he yanked him closer instead. He brought a closed fist down on top of the man’s head, aiming for a level of force that would incapacitate without killing, though it was never really a sure thing.

  The Red crumpled to the curb, incapacitated to say the least.

  Jarek placed his hand on the doorknob to Pryce’s shop.

  “Front room appears empty, sir,” Al said. “Looks like a few of them are stirring in the shop.”

  He stepped into the front room, a pistol in his right hand and a flashbang in his left. He kept his voice low enough that it would be inaudible outside of his sealed helmet. “You ready to do our sharpshooter thing?”

  “Ready, sir.”

  He approached the door to the shop, pulled the pin from the flashbang, and prepared himself for the puppet act.

  Jarek was a decent shot—not the finest in the land by any means, but not bad. Al, on the other hand, was a stone-cold deadeye with unsurprisingly robotic precision. The catch was that Al wasn’t capable of voluntarily causing direct bodily harm to living humans. He could, however, point guns at them, and Jarek was more than capable of pulling triggers.

  Neither one of them were big fans of the loophole. The near conflict made Al uncomfortable, and Jarek usually preferred to stick to beatdowns that left his opponents breathing. When they had the choice, they usually found other ways. But sometimes they didn’t.

  He reached for the doorknob and prepared to chuck the flashbang into the room.

  “Wait,” Al said. “I think I’m seeing—”

  Jarek tuned in with Fela’s auditory sensors.

  Murmurs. Shifting weights and shuffling boots. Quick, padding footsteps … headed straight for the door.

  “Move!” Al cried. “Get out of the—”