Polaris (9 page)

IN HINDSIGHT THAT DEEP SLEEP THROUGH THE JOURNEY
back to Peltraz had been a blessing. Jeth didn't have time to speculate or worry about what Daxton would do when they arrived. He didn't have time to brace for the worst. He didn't even know the worst was coming until it was over.

He woke with a buzzing in his head. It was small and inconsistent at first, a spurting of sensation, not quite sound and not quite feeling but something in between. For those first few seconds as he regained consciousness, he was aware of nothing else but the buzzing.

Then slowly, his senses came back to him, and they began to translate the world around him into recognizable images and sounds. He was lying on his stomach in a small, gray-walled room that he recognized as one of the prison cells at Peltraz Spaceport. A thick crust of sleep rimmed his eyes, and as he shifted to get a better look at his surroundings, his muscles protested new and sudden movement after being immobile too long.

With the buzzing in his head growing louder and steadier, Jeth closed his eyes and forced the recollection of what had happened to the forefront of his mind.
Aileen. Sleeping gas in
the life support system. And now here. At Peltraz.

Jeth eased himself into a sitting position, his mind processing more information with each passing second. This cell was cleaner than the last one he'd been in at Peltraz. There was an almost sterile feel to it, like a hospital room, except the bench beneath him was cold metal.

He looked down and realized that someone had changed his clothes. Gone were his usual pants, shirt, and flight jacket. In their place was a pair of black pants and a black shirt, the cut and fit completely familiar to Jeth. This was the basic uniform worn by Hammer's soldiers. By Dax's soldiers now: the Malleus Brethren of the higher order and the Malleus Guard of the lower. Seeing those clothes on him could mean only one thing.

Hands trembling from a fear that ran deeper than any other he possessed, Jeth touched the back of his head. Something rubbery and slick met his fingertips, a tentacle wrapped around the base of his skull. He raised his hand higher, feeling another and another. All the air squeezed out of his lungs and black fog spread across his vision. He blinked it away, fighting to stay conscious. It couldn't be there. It couldn't. And yet it was. An implant.

Jeth wrapped his trembling fingers around the stem, instinct demanding he pull it out. But he froze, remembering Hammer's long-ago warning that only the Brethren implant, a black one, could be removed at will. The clear-colored Guard implant would self-destruct.

But which one was it? A chance of freedom or the end of
the line? The uniform told him nothing, not without a jacket and its distinguishing color of trim. Lowering his hand, Jeth got to his feet, swaying as much from fear as muscles weak from drugged sleep. He desperately scanned the room for a reflective surface, some way to determine the color of the implant. He had to get the thing out, its presence a violation of his mind, his soul.

He pictured what the implants looked like outside their hosts' bodies. Their stems were the length of his index finger at least. The idea of something so long inserted into his brain brought black clouds to his vision once more, and the buzzing grew suddenly louder as if to mock his delayed understanding of its cause.

With no reflective surface in the room, Jeth found his thoughts being drawn to the buzzing. He focused on it, probing it with his mind. At once, images began to flash inside his head. He saw people and places, some that he recognized and some that he didn't. He saw Brethren and Guard, the presence of both telling him nothing about his own state of being. The images raced through his mind too fast to follow. It was like watching a screen flipping between channels at maximum speed.

Gradually, Jeth forced his mind away from the buzzing. He had to get this thing out. He raised his hand to the implant once more, but again fear stilled him. What if it was a clear one? A Guard implant?

No, it can't be,
he thought. From what he'd seen, a clear implant would've rendered him brainless, incapable of the
worry he was feeling now. It must be black, one of the Brethren implants. Those allowed for the wearer to retain self-autonomy, at least to a certain extent. But how much? Already Jeth felt like a stranger in his own head.

His fingers closed once more around the stem, but he couldn't muster the courage to pull it out, not without knowing what would happen. It might hurt; he might faint.
I might never be the same again
.

Shuddering, he pushed the idea away before it overtook him.

On shaking legs, he crossed the room to the sealed door. He pounded on it, focusing entirely on getting out and keeping his thoughts away from the implant and what it meant.

Several minutes passed with no response from the other side. His hands began to ache from the constant percussion, and he forced himself to stop and regroup. He turned toward the right of the door where he knew the lock was located behind a hidden panel. He placed his palm against the smooth surface. To his surprise the panel slid open at his touch.

A simple keypad waited beneath. Jeth stared at the numbers, the buzzing in his head close to a roar. There were millions of possibilities for the code to open the door. He had no way of knowing. No way of guessing.

And yet . . .

An image as sharp as a digital photograph appeared in his mind. Except it wasn't an image at all but an actual thought, devoid of precise shape and appearance but absolutely clear to him nevertheless.

Without contemplating his actions, Jeth keyed the number. The lock clicked, and the door slid open with a quiet hiss.

Jeth stared at the opening, his breath quickening by the moment. How had that worked? Where had the information come from? He touched the implant again. It was a black one, it had to be. The black ones were networked, he knew, allowing all the Malleus Brethren to communicate mind-to-mind with one another. He'd seen it before, but had never tried to imagine how it might work. Even now, he couldn't quite imagine it.

Get going,
an inner voice prompted him. Jeth stepped out into the corridor, a strange calm coming over him, a sense of rightness he couldn't explain and didn't want to contemplate. All that mattered was he was free. The corridor outside was empty of guards, empty of everything except more sealed doors. He debated which way to go, then turned left on instinct. He had to find the crew, find his ship. And he had to find Daxton Price.

To kill him
.

The idea gave Jeth pause. He meant it, and yet he didn't. He was outraged, furious, and yet he wasn't. It was as if something had cleaved his mind and emotions in two. He could sense both but didn't feel truly connected to either, like he was a passenger in his own being.

He broke into a trot and then a run, avoiding the reality of such thoughts by staying focused on the goal. He slowed before the first intersection, hearing voices around the corner. His head buzzed, and another image flashed. He saw
two of the Malleus Brethren, easily identifiable by their black implants and black coats trimmed in indigo silk, arguing back and forth. Both carried guns holstered at their sides.

Implicitly trusting the truth of the image, Jeth charged into the corridor. The Brethren gaped in surprise, too slow to react. Jeth took out the first one with a punch to the temple, using his right hand. He didn't hold back, letting the strength in his cybernetic hand do the maximum damage. By the time the first Brethren started to fall he was after the second with another well-aimed punch. A shock pulsed through him, and then a thrill at how easily they fell. He stared at his right hand, wondering how he ever could've despised it so. Never again.

But no, that wasn't right. He did hate it. It was alien and dangerous.

But useful
.

Jeth shook off the internal argument and stooped to remove the Brethren's guns. He debated tucking one into the waistband of his pants so as to leave his right hand free, but he resisted the impulse.

He moved on, catching sight of two women in white uniforms, either nurses or perhaps maids or some other kind of employee of the prison. He didn't care. Both of the women fled when they spotted him bearing down on them with a gun in each hand.

Find Daxton
. The thought become a mantra, playing on repeat in his head. Once he found him the rest would sort itself out. He knew it instinctively. Jeth barely noticed how
all the people he came across fled at the sight of him as he made his way to the exit. When he got there, he realized the structure was hardly a prison at all, but more of a medical facility. Or maybe it was both. A place for the insane.

Find Daxton,
the mantra reasserted itself, blocking out all other thoughts and worries.

If his escape was too easy, the knowledge didn't fully register in his mind, but passed through it in a fleeting moment. As soon as he was out of the building, he saw he was on the central level of the spaceport, not far from the main entrance to the governor's estate. He stepped onto the walkway and tucked the guns into his waistband. In this uniform and with the implant, the people passing by wouldn't question his presence.

The need to find Daxton reached fever pitch, and he picked up the pace, soon arriving at the public entrance to the gardens that surrounded the govenor's estate. Not much had changed under Daxton's leadership, at least not on the surface. The place was as decadent as ever, the smell of flowers and plants strong in Jeth's nose as he entered, navigating the flowerbeds, fountains, and hedgerows without conscious thought. Surrounded by all that plant life it was easy to forget this was a spaceport, everything artificially built and maintained.

Jeth reached the gate that led into Daxton's private gardens. It was locked but unguarded. He didn't question why he'd come here when Daxton could be anywhere. The sight of that unguarded door should've pointed him in a new
direction, and yet he stepped up to it and entered a code on the keypad. As in the cell, the combination came to him in a flash of thought. The gate opened, and Jeth headed in.

He found Daxton huddled over one of the flowerbeds, spreading peat with his hands. Dirt smears covered the rubber gloves he wore. Sweat coated his brow, dampening his black hair. His face was in profile, giving Jeth a partial view of the brain implant inserted into the back of his skull: a red one, the color of old blood. It was the master implant that controlled all the others. The sight of it filled Jeth with both dread and awe. The back of his skull tingled.

Memories flooded Jeth's mind of all the times he'd seen Hammer wearing the red implant. The strongest memory was of the last time he'd seen him. The crime lord had stood over Jeth with a clear-colored implant in his hand. Jeth was on his knees, held in place by Dax, prone and helpless to stop what was coming. Jeth knew that deep down Dax wanted to stop it, that Hammer was as much his enemy as Jeth's. Jeth pleaded with him, begging. But Dax had been wearing his black Brethren implant, and even though he fought for control of his own mind, Hammer's red implant had held sway over him, up until the very last moment when Dax had finally broken free. So close Jeth had come to being made a Malleus Guard that day.

And what am I now?

Jeth didn't say anything, just stood there watching as Dax labored on, carefully freeing some flowered plant with blue petals from a carton and then burying the roots deep in the
loose earth. Without the implant, Dax might have been mistaken for a simple gardener, the kind who took pride and pleasure in such honest work.

When he finished, Dax wiped the sweat from his forehead and spoke without looking up. “Welcome back, Jethro. I've been expecting you.”

Jeth went rigid at the sound of Dax's voice. He heard it with his ears and yet somehow felt it as well, a vibration in his mind.
He knew I was here the whole time. He knew I was coming.

A sick feeling twisted in Jeth's gut as full understanding came to him at last. He hadn't escaped the cell. This wasn't a quest for vengeance. This was obedience. Red implant over black. Dax had beckoned him, and Jeth had answered his master's call.

JETH'S HEAD SPUN, HIS HEART POUNDING.
MASTER, MASTER
,
master
.

Slave, slave, slave.

No.
Jeth forced the spinning to cease as he searched for his voice, buried deep in the layers of shock. “How could you do this to me after . . . after . . .”

Daxton looked up, his caramel-colored eyes bright in the artificial sunlight overhead. A frown curved his lips. “After what?”

Jeth scowled. “You know
what
. You helped me escape this when Hammer tried to force it on me. And now you go and do it anyway?” He motioned to the thing in the back of his head, its presence a dead weight.

False sympathy crossed Daxton's face. “Well, it's not a clear one.”

“This is just as bad.”

“Oh come on now, Jeth, you know that's not true. If I'd given you a Guard implant you wouldn't be yourself anymore, just a programmable shell, a tool in human form. I would never do that to you. I'm not in the habit of courting waste. I've given you a gift instead.”

Jeth glowered, distrusting the sincerity in Dax's words, even as he felt himself warming to the man, the way he'd once warmed to his favorite teachers or family doctor, an automatic trust. He fought the feeling back, willing his anger to the surface. It should've been easy. Anger had been his constant companion in life, a bottomless reservoir inside him.

“A gift?”

Dax rolled his thick shoulders, his neck muscles flexing. He wasn't nearly as large as his predecessor, but he'd bulked up these last few months. “If you don't like it, take it out.”

Jeth hesitated. There was nothing he wanted more than to rid himself of this thing attached to him, and yet the idea of actually doing it made dread pound in his temples, as if he were considering cutting off his own hand. “How do I know this isn't a trick?”

Dax frowned, his expression wounded. “Honestly, Jeth, what kind of a man do you think I am?”

“I think you're the type who'll do whatever it takes to get what he wants. Just like Hammer.”

Daxton's frown vanished, and he nodded. “I'm afraid that's true of most us. The getting what we want bit.”

Jeth couldn't believe the changes in the man before him. He had Dax's face, but in so many ways he was Hammer all over again. He wore his arrogance like royal robes. He had the attitude of man absolutely certain of his power and position.

Daxton sighed. “It's a black implant. Nothing will happen,
I promise. If I wanted to kill you, I wouldn't do it this way. Far too messy. You should've seen what happened when Hammer finally tried to take out his Guard implant.”

“Hammer's dead?” The last time Jeth had seen him, the man had been catatonic but still alive, reduced from master to slave after Dax forced the clear-colored implant meant for Jeth into Hammer's architecture instead.

“Very much so. Now go on. Man up and get it over with.”

Jeth bit his tongue hard enough to draw blood. The sharp taste helped clear his doubt, and he raised his right hand to the back of his skull, wrapped his fingers around the rubbery tentacles, and pulled.

The implant came out with a wet sucking sound that made him want to vomit. Bile burned the back of his throat as he stared down at the thing in his hand—a flaccid, dead spider. He tossed it into the grass at Daxton's feet. Relief came and went in a single breath, driven off by a powerful urge to retrieve the implant and reinsert it. Jeth felt its absence like a physical pain. As if he'd been full a moment before, and now was empty.

He shook his head.
It's not real, not real, not real
.

Across from him, Daxton watched his struggle with almost clinical interest. Jeth wanted to gouge the look from the man's face. Finally, he remembered the guns sheathed at his waist. How could he have forgotten? Why had he waited so long? He pulled one free and aimed the barrel at Daxton's face.

“I'll kill you for doing this to me.”

Dax tilted his head, his expression one of mild surprise. “Do you really want to? Are you sure? Or would you rather
pick up that implant and put it back where it belongs?”

Jeth's hand trembled as a phantom ache went through the back of his skull. It was different from the old one. Instead of stabbing pain, it was an ache of emptiness, like being alone in the middle of a crowd, or that deep hunger that has nothing to do with food and everything to do with want.

“Go on,” Dax said. “No one will think less of you for giving in. Like I said, it's a gift. You're one of us now.”

Jeth closed his eyes and shook his head, trying to fight it off. Then he opened them again and forced his hand to steady on the gun. Sweat coated his body, the muscles in his arm close to spasm. “I'm not one of you.”

Dax sighed and waved him off. “Suit yourself. I should've known better than to think anything would be easy when it came to you. Then again, I might've been disappointed if it were.” Before he'd even finished speaking, two of the Malleus Brethren appeared as if from nowhere. Jeth barely had time to register their hulking presence before they ripped the guns from him.

Too late, Jeth realized they were the same Brethren he'd taken out earlier. In the fervor of his journey here, he'd forgotten that the implants helped their wearers heal faster. The one on the left voiced his grudge with a fist. The punch landed against Jeth's belly, and he doubled over, stomach muscles cramping.

The moment he regained his breath, Jeth lunged for the man, his right hand all the weapon he needed. The shrill pop of a gunshot froze him midswing, the bullet passing so close to his face it burned. Jeth spun toward the source.

“We both know I never miss by accident,” said Dax, a Luke 357 clutched in his hand.

Jeth swallowed, the fight going out of him. Daxton might've changed, but not this part of him. He'd always been a crack shot.

Forcing his hands to his sides as the Brethren stepped back from him, Jeth said, “Where's my crew and my ship?”

Dax pointed at the implant on the ground. “Everything you need to know is right there. And considering how well you followed my guidance to get here, you should have no trouble at all finding what else you're looking for.”

That longing came over Jeth again, strong enough that his knees threatened to buckle. All it would take was a couple of steps and he could return the implant to its sheath.

A sympathetic look crossed Dax's face. “Tell you what. Why don't we talk things over for a bit? I won't pressure you to wear the implant and you won't pressure me with having to kill you.”

Jeth inhaled and slowly nodded, the struggle in him lessening to something bearable.

“Good choice.” Daxton waved to a table nearby, one with a huge umbrella to block out the sunlight.

Jeth walked over to it and sat down, thinking clearly for the first time since he'd woken in that cell. He couldn't trust Dax, but he knew for certain the man didn't want him dead. If he did, he wouldn't have gone to the trouble with the implant.
And with guiding me,
Jeth thought and shuddered. Coming here had seemed like his choice. But it wasn't.
Daxton had manipulated him like a puppet on a cognitive string.

Even now he felt the urge to retrieve the implant from where it lay in the grass. He had to resist.
It'll get easier,
he tried to reassure himself.

“Don't worry,” Dax said, brushing dirt from the coveralls he wore before sitting down. “You'll get used to it in time. The implant, I mean. It's always rough when the connection first goes live, but you'll adjust to it soon, I promise.”

“I don't want to adjust.” Jeth folded his arms over his chest. His sides felt naked without the guns and he spared a quick glance at the two Brethren, who had retreated a respectable distance away. But they were still close enough to stop him if he tried anything. Why hadn't he taken out Dax when he had the chance? It should've been easy. He might even have gotten away with it. All he had to do was take the master implant from Dax and insert it into his own architecture. He could've established leadership over all the Malleus, the same as Dax had done.

And yet, Jeth had a feeling that it wouldn't have been so easy. Dax had been under Hammer's control for years before managing it. And there was too much Jeth didn't understand about the implants. He'd always thought it was simple: clear equaled mindless slave; black equaled connected and empowered; red equaled master of all. But now he didn't know what to think. And the ache, the want, blossomed and grew.

“I don't doubt your repulsion,” Dax said, “but you will get past it nevertheless.”

“How could you do it?” Jeth said. “You were supposed to be better than Hammer. He forced you into his service, didn't he?”

Dax slowly nodded, but his expression didn't look like one of guilt.

Frustrated by his failure to get a response, Jeth switched tactics. He rapped his knuckles on the table. “How's your brother, Dax? Did you force an implant on him, too?” It was a low blow, Jeth knew. Hammer had used Dax's brother as a pressure point to get him to join the Brethren, to submit to wearing a black implant.

A dark emotion, not quite anger and not quite sadness came and went in Dax's eyes. “My brother is dead.”

Jeth shivered at the coldness in his voice. He bit back condolences. This man didn't deserve his sympathy.

“What do you want from me?” Jeth asked, even though the answer was obvious. Daxton wanted possession of him. That's what this was, the business with the implant—his way of laying ownership to Jeth's will. Hatred burned in Jeth's chest, and for a moment he had perfect clarity of mind. He would kill Daxton Price for doing this to him, for making him a slave in his own head.

As if he once again had gleaned Jeth's thoughts, Dax set the gun he'd used earlier on the table in front of him. It was close enough to taunt Jeth, but he knew better than to make a grab for it. Daxton was as fast as he was accurate.

“What I want,” Dax said as he began tugging off his soiled gloves, “is your help.”

Jeth blinked. “My help?”

“Yes, your help. Don't be so surprised. I've needed it before, haven't I? If you hadn't been there, encouraging me to cast off Hammer's control, I never would've defeated him.”

Jeth slowly nodded, recalling the memory once more. He hadn't realized his words had made that much difference. Still, that wasn't the same scenario as this one. Yes, they'd taken down Hammer together in the end, but that had been more like mutual aid. If anything, Jeth had needed Dax's help more than the other way around. But the way Dax spoke, they had been in it together from the start and were now old friends reuniting for another common purpose.

Jeth narrowed his gaze on Dax. “Why do this to me, then, if all you want is help?” He gestured to the back of his head.

Dax sighed, and Jeth couldn't tell if it was theatrical or genuine regret this time. “It was necessary. I have to have your loyalty, and the implant will guarantee that I do.”

Jeth seethed, even as a part of him understood the logic. Dax knew that Jeth's first loyalty was to himself and his family and crew. He frowned, realizing that Dax could have used his sisters to ensure his compliance instead of the implant, the same way Hammer had used Dax's brother against him. The fact that he hadn't made Jeth feel both relieved and nervous. He already felt cleaved in two by the implant, but he had a feeling that was just the beginning of its power.

Leaning back in his chair, Jeth assumed a calm posture. It was a far cry from his rising desperation, but appearances mattered. Especially to men like Dax. “What is it you need my help with, exactly?”

Daxton smiled. “I want the coordinates to Empyria.”

Jeth went still, the conversation with Lizzie popping up in his head at once.
A code,
she had said.
To Empyria
. But how could Dax know about it? Had Lizzie told him? Did he force it out of her?

“And as your mother is the only living person ever to have found the planet,” Dax went on, “I need you to—”

He broke off as a shrill scream filled the air around them. Jeth trembled at the sound of it, his pulse doubling in the space of a second. He knew that sound, the way it had physical presence like a shot from a pulse gun, and he understood the danger it could bring. But why was Cora here?

The scream transformed into words. “How dare you!” The voice was female, but far too old to be Cora.

Jeth turned toward the speaker, his gaze falling on a woman marching down one of the paths that led to the small clearing. Her hair, hanging in a long braid pulled over one shoulder, was an impossible shade of white, as if it had been freshly painted. For a moment, Jeth thought she must be an escaped mental patient; she wore all white, the baggy pants and tunic emphasizing a thinness that bordered on emaciation. She looked familiar to him somehow, like someone he ought to know.

That's when the truth of who she was hit him like a physical blow. All the air rushed out of his lungs, and he would've fallen down if he'd been standing.

A foreign word rose to his lips. He expelled it in a single breath.

“Mom.”