Polaris (30 page)

Jeth didn't know how long it lasted. He didn't know how Saar's mind could handle such an influx of memories all at
once, how it didn't destroy him. Except, of course, that Saar was the Temple. His was the strongest mind of any Jeth had felt. Stronger than Dax, stronger than Hammer had been.

And Jeth had no hope against such a mind, such strength. He was a reed, broken in the wind. Saar was the master now.

Forever.

PLEASE JUST LET ME DIE
.

It was the only thought Jeth had left, the only one that was truly his. But even this, Saar denied him.

Not yet, Jethro
.
Your sister will come, your uncle
.
They will do anything to save you. Your memories are proof enough of that
.

Saar didn't have them, Jeth realized. Not yet. Somehow Saar failed to find Lizzie and Milton at Peltraz, even though Jeth knew the Underground had been breached. He saw it all happen, Dax kneeling before Saar, who'd already taken possession of the master implant, and given Dax a black one. Dax had fought, projecting lies and misdirection through the link. He fought so hard the blood vessels in his eyes burst. Blood poured from his nostrils. It didn't matter. The black implant wasn't strong enough; he wasn't strong enough. Saar had emptied his mind of all the information he could glean, and then he had killed him with a single shot through the heart. Elegant, Saar had called the death—and deserved.

But Dax hadn't known about the code. Lizzie had never told him. She had gotten away.

She won't come,
Jeth replied.
She's not stupid.

Saar laughed, the sound a rich, vibrant pressure in Jeth's
mind, full of certainty. Hatred as black and foul as cancer, as death, burned in Jeth's heart. But Saar only laughed harder.

She will come, and once I have the information from her, I will have you kill her.

The image Saar conveyed into Jeth's mind made his stomach wrench, and he vomited over the table.

I won't do it. I won't do it
.

But he would. The implant was too powerful. Saar was too powerful. And Jeth was broken.

“Stand him up,” Saar said, and Jeth felt hands on his wrists, the soldiers muttering about the stench and the mess. They unlocked the chain from the table and forced him to his feet. Jeth stood on trembling legs. He couldn't fall down. Saar was willing him to stand.

You will keep the implant in at all times,
Saar said.
Or your friends will bear the consequences.
This time the image was of Sierra and Flynn subjected to unspeakable torture, the kind that would break them, both in spirit and mind.

They were alive and okay for now, too, Jeth realized, but the thought brought no comfort. He saw the extent of Saar's plan for them. He would keep them alive to keep Jeth in line, until Lizzie and Milton came. Once he had them and the code for Empyria, they would all die. Jeth would kill them all at Saar's bidding before turning the gun on himself.

They took Jeth to a holding cell in the Hive. It was the smallest room he had ever seen, barely tall enough to stand in and only just long enough to lie in. There was no latrine, no sink for washing, not even a place to sit. They shut him
inside and he sank to the floor, slumping against the back wall. The closeness of the space pressed against him, setting his nerves on edge. He wanted to scream and rage and beat the walls, but Saar's will remained firm in his mind. He was to sit quietly and obey. He could feel the man's will as clearly as if Saar stood there in the room with him.

And so Jeth sat and obeyed.

He fell asleep sometime later, but Saar's presence greeted him the moment he awoke again.

Time to the bait the hook. You will play your part. Or your friends will endure worse pain than you can imagine.

The image of what Saar wanted him to do flashed in Jeth's mind. The door opened a few minutes later and a pair of Saar's soldiers waved him out of the cell. The silver of their implants gleamed in the lights overhead, mocking Jeth. He went with his eyes downcast and head bowed. No fight. No fuss. Perfect obedience.

They led him to the flight deck once more, then onto the cargo bay ramp of
Regret
. Half a dozen ITA agents carrying cameras were waiting there. Jeth didn't meet their eyes either. Not until they turned the cameras on and gave him the signal.

Manacles were clamped around his wrists again, this time tied behind his back. The moment they were in place Jeth began to struggle. He fought as hard as he could. He screamed and cursed at the soldiers. He played the part of the wanton criminal that Saar wanted the world to see. The soldiers dragged and pushed him across the flight line toward
the elevator into the Hive. The cameras panned wide, catching the full stretch of the deck and some of the surrounding ocean, and the distinctive beams of the Harvester, of course. Later, when the ITA journalists described the capture, their voices superimposed over the video, the location would be recognizable to anyone who knew what to look for.

Anyone like Lizzie and Milton.

They returned him to his cell afterward, but only for a little while.

“Time to practice,” Saar said as the door swung open. Two soldiers came in and hauled Jeth to his feet. “We must ensure your obedience in every way.” As Saar spoke, Jeth saw the image of what Saar intended. Shame flooded him. He tried to hide it from Saar, but it was impossible. The man smiled, his satisfaction flowing through the link.

Shame is good. Through shame, your crimes will be purged.

With Saar leading the way, the soldiers took Jeth to a cell two floors above. The cell was bigger, but still spare. It contained a bench with a thin blanket and an even thinner pillow set atop it. Instead of a toilet, a plastic bucket sat in the corner. The stench assaulted Jeth's nostrils as he walked in.

“Jeth!” Flynn said, standing up from the bench. Jeth didn't respond or even look up. He kept his eyes on the floor, his destination clear as he headed for the bucket, hoisting it up with one hand.

“What are you doing?” said Flynn. “What's wrong with you?”

Jeth wanted to answer, but he couldn't. The harder he
tried, the stronger the pressure in his mind grew. He knew that to Flynn he looked like he was sleepwalking, his movements stiff. Saar watched from outside the door, bearing physical and mental witness to Jeth's punishment.

He carried the bucket out of the cell, the soldiers locking the door behind him. He took it to the nearby latrine and dumped the contents. Then he went to the janitor's closet and rinsed the bucket clean before returning it to the cell. This time, Jeth managed to raise his eyes for a second, long enough to see the look of horror and disgust on Flynn's face. And also of pity. More shame burned in Jeth at the sight of it, and he forced his thoughts to a better memory of Flynn. The taste of chocolate filled his mouth, but it turned bitter as Saar forced the memory out of his mind.

Those memories belong to me now
.

Saar led him to Sierra next. She did not react with surprise at the sight of him, as Flynn had, but with action. The moment Jeth stepped through the door, she leaped up from the bench and charged him, her hands rising to his head. Jeth didn't move, didn't look at her. There was no command from Saar.

Sierra's hands closed around the implant in the back of his skull, but just as she began to pull it out, the soldiers stepped in, clubs drawn. They struck her twice and she fell with a strangled cry. Jeth's heart wrenched, and he fought against Saar, against the power binding him in place.

It was no good. All it did was make his limbs tremble and his head ache. A trickle of blood slid from his nose at the effort.
He tasted it as it slipped over his lips and into his mouth.

The soldiers restrained her so Jeth could complete his task. He retrieved the bucket and carried it to the door, Sierra's voice a distant call in his ears.

“Fight it, Jeth,” she said. “You can do this. Dax overcame Hammer. Just fight it. It can't end this way.”

He dumped and cleaned the bucket and returned it to the cell. Sierra struggled to get at him once more. But the guards restrained her, and still Jeth could not move.

They returned Jeth to his cell where he spent the rest of the day and the night, trapped in his head. Locked in a never-ending nightmare.

Saar came for him again the next morning, still wearing the red implant.

“You have a special task today,” Saar said, reinforcing his words with his will through the implant. “You will talk to Cora. You will tell her she must put aside her fears and worries. She is in a better place, a safer place. She must do everything the scientists ask of her without resistance.”

For a second, Jeth saw a glimpse of the damage Cora had done to the facility already and a flush of pleasure warmed his body. He summoned what remained of his strength, teeth clenching from the effort. “It won't work,” he said.

Saar glowered down at him. “You will not speak out of turn.”

Jeth's mouth closed and refused to open.

Saar led the way this time, the two soldiers following behind him, their hands resting on their guns. Cora was
not being held in a cell, but in an apartment. Judging by the lavish furniture, Jeth guessed its former occupant had been part of the management team that oversaw the production at the Hive.

As Jeth walked into the living room, Cora looked up from where she sat slumped on the sofa. Exhaustion lined her face. Her eyes were heavy from the sedatives they'd been giving her, drugs that would eventually lose their ability to subdue her entirely, Jeth knew.

He walked toward her, expecting a warm greeting, but Cora recoiled from him, drawing the blanket she'd been using up to her face.

“Go away,” she shrieked. “You're not my brother. Go away!”

Jeth frowned, or at least made an attempt at frowning. He tried to speak, tried to convince her that it was really him, but the words came out garbled.

Stop fighting,
Saar spoke in his mind.
Give in to my control and you will be able to convince her
.

But Jeth couldn't do it. He hadn't even known he was still fighting. The instinct to protect his sister was so deep beneath the surface of his consciousness he hadn't known it existed. He didn't know how to turn it off.

“There's someone else in your head,” Cora shrieked. “You're not supposed to be there! It's not supposed to do that.” She began to scream, her voice vibrating the walls. Soon she would tear holes in them. Jeth took another step forward, hoping that she would destroy the place. Maybe
she would turn that power against him, killing him, setting him free.

But Saar knew his intention at once, and the soldiers rushed in and hauled Jeth back through the door. He spotted a medic hurrying down the hallway toward them, a jet injector in her hand.

Fight them, Cora,
he thought.
Use your gift. Phase them away.
Then he remembered that she could do more. She could save them all the way she'd done once before when they'd been trapped on the Strata starship.
Phase us all!

But it was no use. She couldn't hear his thoughts, and she couldn't use her abilities when she was sedated.

The soldiers led him back to his cell.

Another day went by, and another night. The morning after, they took him back to Flynn's cell for more cleaning. But this time, he brought in a bucket of hot, soapy water and a couple of rags with him.

“To clean yourself,” Jeth said as he set the bucket down. His voice sounded strange to his ears. He'd heard so little of it these last few days, and the words he'd spoken weren't his but Saar's.

Flynn made a pained noise, torn between his desire to be clean and his disgust at Jeth's role as servant. But in the end he stripped off his soiled clothes and washed himself. This time, Jeth did not keep his eyes averted. Saar made him watch. And even though Jeth knew outwardly he looked like some kind of zombie, inwardly he saw everything. Especially the hurt on Flynn's face, along with fear and dread.

Afterward, they took him to Sierra's cell once more, another bucket with fresh water in his hands. This time though, the soldiers went in first, prepared for her reaction. She fought them, but they beat her back quickly. As soon as she was subdued, they stripped off her clothes and then snapped manacles around her wrists and ankles.

Saar appeared in the doorway. Again he'd come to bear witness to Jeth's penance. “Bathe her,” he said, sending the command through the Temple.

Every muscle in Jeth's body tensed. He wanted to stand in front of Sierra, use his body to hide her nakedness from Saar.

Bathe her
. Saar's command rang in his head.

“Fight it, Jeth,” Sierra said. “Fight—” A hand closed over her mouth.

No,
he thought through the link. The open defiance was like a ray of light shining through an impenetrable darkness. It filled him with hope, with strength.

Saar crushed it at once. Pain lanced through Jeth's head and he stumbled, dropping to his knees. He raised his hands to his forehead and pressed, desperate for relief. For a second, he pictured himself yanking the implant from his skull. But no matter how hard he tried, his hands wouldn't move to the back of his head.

Spent and beaten, Jeth gave in to the will pressing upon him. He struggled to his feet and picked up one of the rags. He doused it in the warm, soapy water, and then he scrubbed Sierra as Saar had commanded.

Jeth felt the heat of her humiliation as his hands rubbed
the rag over her body. His own shame burned just as hot. She tried over and over again to speak to him, but her captors held her too tightly. He wanted to speak to her, to offer her words of comfort, but he couldn't. The urge to cry rose up in him, but even that Saar denied him.

And Saar watched it all from the doorway, his gaze impassive but his mind filled with intense satisfaction at Jeth's obedience.

Later, Jeth understood why his friends had been cleaned. The three of them were led into a cargo hold somewhere deep inside the Hive. It had been emptied of storage crates and barrels, making room for the large crowd assembled before a makeshift dais.

Jeth, Sierra, and Flynn were led onto the dais at gunpoint, all three of them with their hands shackled behind their backs. None of them struggled or protested. Jeth guessed that Sierra was surveying the scene, searching for an escape. Flynn had withdrawn into himself, unwilling to incur the soldiers' wrath by acting out.