Polaris (5 page)

TO HIS SURPRISE, JETH FOUND THE COMMON ROOM EMPTY
as he arrived. Even Flynn wasn't there yet, although he'd left the engine room before Jeth. Jeth supposed the girls were getting changed out of their casino outfits. The others were likewise cleaning up, probably.

He leaned against the gaming table in the center of the common room and was immediately aware of all the signs of lives-in-progress around him: a discarded sock poking out from beneath one of the reclining armchairs, a drinking glass crusted with some reddish stain sitting on an end table. Two gaming remotes lay on the threadbare sofa, left there by Shady, the first discarded when the charge ran out. Both were probably drained now.

A pair of punch mitts that they'd been using for hand-to-hand combat training had been left on another end table. The moment Jeth's eyes alighted on them, he glanced away, his throat constricting. The mitts belonged to Vince, a last-minute buy from the flea market in Moenia City. They
had
been Vince's, Jeth corrected himself. It was the first physical reminder of a life no more. He wondered how many more there would be.

One by one the crew filed in. Lizzie arrived first. Shadows rimmed her eyes, and her curly brown hair lay flat against her skull, the roots dark with grease. Shampoo cost money, and she'd been doing without as much as she could. She looked far older than fourteen, any baby fat long since burned off her by their current living conditions.

Shady came next, tall and shaggy-haired with crude tattoos covering his neck and forearms. The black ink looked dull in the soft light of the common room. He sat next to Lizzie on the sofa, picking up both of the gaming remotes and idly testing them for juice.

When Flynn arrived, he slumped down in the armchair nearest the sofa, He looked as irritable as before, but he'd washed the ash off his face and hands.

Milton showed up next and opted for an empty armchair, resting his head against the back. Age had painted him gray and wrinkled. Like Lizzie, he was too thin of late, although at least the usual redness in his nose and cheeks was less pronounced these days. Alcohol was a luxury he could no longer afford.

Finally, Celeste and Sierra arrived. Celeste, having donned snug black pants and a fitted red top, strolled in with her usual languid air and settled down on the sofa next to Shady.

Sierra hesitated just inside the door.

Here it comes
. Jeth held his breath, blood roaring in his ears.

“Where's Vince?” She scanned the room but only for a second before turning her eyes on Jeth.

He felt himself shrivel beneath that gaze, and when
he spoke his voice was small, defeated. “He's . . . still at Nuvali.”

“What?” Celeste's voice boomed in Jeth's ears, and she sat up straighter on the sofa, a cat ready to pounce. “Did he get caught?”

Jeth shook his head, his eyes dropping to the floor. “He's dead.”

No one spoke for several seconds, paralyzed. Death was impossibly powerful, absolute, with no room for bargaining. One moment here, and the next gone. Forever.

“To hell with that,” Celeste said, and now her voice cut the air instead of boomed. She leaped up from the sofa and swung toward the door, her straight black hair fanning out like dark wings. “We've got to go back for him.”

Before Jeth could react, Shady was up and on the move. He grabbed Celeste by the wrist and hauled her to a stop. She swung back around, her face livid.

“Let me go.” She threw a punch, but Shady caught it with his other hand.

Screaming, Celeste tried to fight him off, but Shady only pulled her close, pinning her arms to her sides.

“We can't go back. They'll kill us,” Shady said, struggling to hold her. He was taller and had at least fifty pounds on her, but it didn't matter in the face of her heartbreak.

“We don't know he's dead! Jeth's not a doctor. Let me go!”

Each scream seemed to flay Jeth, and tears stung his eyes, some of grief and some of guilt. He gripped the edge of the table and said with as much strength as he could muster,
“He's dead, Celeste. The bullet went through his heart. It was instant.”

Celeste ignored him, fighting harder. Jeth looked away, unable to bear the sight of her pain. But the others were hardly better. Milton's eyes were watery, his lips curved downward in a hideous expression of sorrow. Lizzie was openly crying, her hands covering her face as gentle sobs trembled through her body.

But the worst was Sierra. She stood frozen in place. She seemed beyond tears, beyond any reaction at all, and yet Jeth could feel her breaking. He wanted to go to her, to wrap her in his arms and gather the pieces, but he couldn't make his feet move. He couldn't be certain she would welcome the comfort. She should hate him.

Slowly, Celeste stopped struggling, and she sagged against Shady, her cries now wrecked and jagged. “You left him behind,” Celeste said, not looking at Jeth. “We can't even say good-bye.”

Jeth choked back guilt, fighting hard not to cry.
I didn't have a choice,
he thought, but couldn't bring himself to say it.

Celeste's words seemed to shatter the spell Sierra was under, and she staggered forward, heading for the nearest chair. She sank onto it, tears now flowing freely from her eyes.

“What happened?” she said.

Jeth swallowed. “It was that old man, the one in the priest's robes. I . . . I was stupid and didn't check him for weapons. I thought he was just a bystander, but then he said something that made Vince panic. Vince told me to run and I did. I
only made it because he warned me.”

“What did he say?” Lizzie asked, her voice thick. “The old man.”

Jeth thought back, the memory blurred by emotions. He inhaled, expanding his chest as far as it would go, the sudden intake of oxygen making him momentarily dizzy. “He said ‘I am the Storm that Rises.' Then Vince called him some name I didn't recognize.”

Sierra sucked in a breath. “Saar.”

Jeth frowned. “Yeah, that's right. Who is he?”

“Admiral David Saar,” Sierra said, and now Jeth recognized the name.

“No, it can't be,” said Milton, jerking upright. “It's not possible.”

Sierra cut her eyes to him. “Why not? We know he's still alive.”

Jeth crossed his arms over his chest. “Are we talking about the same Admiral Saar from the history books?”

Both Sierra and Milton looked up at him with alarmed expressions, as if in their mutual horror they were startled to find they weren't alone.

“The same.” Milton sagged against the sofa again.

“But who is he?” asked Lizzie.

Jeth wasn't surprised that Lizzie didn't know. She'd spent less time than any of them in a classroom. But from their confused looks, Jeth guessed Flynn and Shady were in the dark, too. He couldn't tell with Celeste, who still had her face buried against Shady's chest.

“Admiral Saar,” Milton said, “is a living legend. Not that any of you are old enough to fully understand what that means. I was your age when he was at the height of his glory. He's most famous for single-handedly ending the Emet Insurgence.”

A shiver went down Jeth's spine as he remembered studying the Insurgence back at Metis Academy, the ITA-run boarding school he'd attended up until his father's death and his mother's imprisonment. He'd never been particularly interested in history, then or now, but he could recall with perfect clarity the videos and photos chronicling the conflict that his teacher had shown them. Most of the ones he remembered were of the aftermath—entire cities pulverized into an unknowable wasteland of twisted metal and ash; the murky water of poisoned rivers and streams; farmlands scorched into hellish landscapes; and piles upon piles of slaughtered livestock. And the dead of course. Millions of them.

Sierra nodded. “The ITA reveres Saar. All first-year agents are required to study his war tactics, whether we wanted to or not. Saar . . . liked to get his hands dirty, personally performing executions and whatnot. Sadistic. But there's no denying he was a genius.”

Shady looked unimpressed. “What was this Insurgence?”

“The last time any planet ever attempted to secede from the Confederation.”

This news didn't have any effect on Shady. In fact, he barely seemed to listen as he guided Celeste back to the sofa.

“Yes,” said Milton, rubbing his eyes. “Saar's victory over
Emet secured the ITA's power over the aligned systems and it earned Saar the name Storm Scourge. Although if I remember correctly, he often referred to himself as the Storm that Rises.”

“Yes, that's true,” said Sierra.

Jeth didn't want to believe it, and yet he'd seen the man for himself. Saar had certainly looked old enough to have fought wars nearly fifty years ago. “If this is the same Saar, then why us? Why now?”

Flynn, who'd been silently following the conversation, added, “Yeah, if he's not dead by now then surely the guy's retired.”

Milton shook his head. “Saar is not the type of man to retire. There hasn't been much need for his services since Emet fell, but he went on commanding smaller missions and excursions. The size never mattered to him. He went after little targets with the same relentless fervor that he did Emet. He is the ITA's greatest weapon.”

Lizzie's tear-reddened eyes widened. “And now they've pointed him at us.”

“So it would seem.”

Jeth looked up at the ceiling, his thoughts turning to Cora. He wished the ITA would just give up their hunt for her, that they would realize she was just a child, with the same rights as anyone else, the right to live a normal life, not as some perpetual science experiment.

Only that was the crux, wasn't it? No matter what she appeared to be, she wasn't fully human. As long as the
problem with the Pyreans went unresolved, they would never give up. They needed her too much. Her genetic makeup and ability to perceive metaspace was the key to finding the solution, the surest way to ensure their continued dominance of the galaxy.

Exhaling, Jeth lowered his gaze again. Movement across the way drew his attention to the door, and he saw Lizzie's yellow-haired cat stride into the common room, his bushy tail held high like a golden banner. In ironic contrast to the rest of them, Jeth realized how fat Viggo was looking these days, his belly a hairy satchel drooping between his legs.

Shaking his head, Jeth returned his focus to Sierra and Milton. “If Saar is so great, then how come I got away? He could've killed me but he didn't. He—” Jeth broke off as the truth broke the surface of his consciousness:
Saar let me go. On purpose.

“If that's true then there's only one explanation,” Sierra said, echoing Jeth's realization. “He let you go so he could track us. The bounty will force us into a corner and make us easier to catch. And he knows he must be careful approaching us, as he likely has orders to take Cora alive.”

“Careful?”
Celeste said. “Then why did he kill Vince? If the plan was to track us, why reveal himself at all?”

Sierra didn't look at Celeste as she answered, her quiet hurt the still waters to Celeste's raging river. “I don't know, except, killing . . . killing Vince seems to fit. Saar is an executioner, not an assassin. And Vince was an ITA deserter. A traitor, as far as Saar was concerned.”

“Sierra's right,” Milton said, slowly nodding. “Saar is the worst of enemies. He's a man with full faith in his own righteousness.”

Flynn rapped his index finger against the end table. “So what you're saying is, we're screwed no matter what, and we should just turn ourselves in right now.”

Jeth, well used to such an attitude from Flynn, straightened from his slumped position against the table, drawing all the energy and force of will he could muster. Things were bad, but he refused to give in or give up. And he wouldn't let any of the others do it either, not while they remained on his ship. “No, what they're saying is we need to search for the tracking device.”

“Yes, that's the first place to start,” said Sierra, sounding more like she did when she'd first entered the common room. Jeth supposed that having a purpose to focus on was a shield against grief.

Bolstered, if only by a degree, Jeth added, “And we need to figure out our next move. We're not beaten yet. The deal with Wainwright was a bust, but I still have the Mirage Cipher.”

Lizzie stood up. “Once we find the tracker, I'll work on a list of other potential buyers.”

“What?” said Shady, a lazy incongruous grin stretching across his face. “You think there's someone out there who'd rather have the cipher than the ten million bounty for turning us in?”

Lizzie scowled down at him, hands on hips. “It's always possible. We can go in disguised.”

“Oh sure.” Shady bobbed his shaggy blond head. Like Lizzie, his hair was in need of a wash. “Right.”

“We
will
find someone,” Jeth said, trying to head off the argument. “And we've got to do it quick.” He hesitated, bracing for the next delivery of bad news. But it wasn't like he could keep it a secret from them. “I had to leave the casino tokens behind.”

All five faces bore varying expressions of shock and horror. Celeste spoke first, venom in her voice. “You lost all our money?”

Jeth hardened. “I didn't have a choice. There wasn't time to exchange them, and I couldn't leave with them.”

Shady swore, loudly and colorfully. “Choice or not, you screwed us hard on this one. Well, you better come up with a solution fast, Boss Man. Because I've no plan to starve out here in the middle of nowhere. Life was a helluva lot easier back when we were working for Hammer. If we get out of this, maybe I'll try my luck with Daxton.”

Jeth felt the blood drain from his face and then rush back into it. Never in the four years they'd known each other had Shady ever talked to him like that. And it wasn't a hollow threat. Daxton Price was the man who had taken control of Hammer's criminal enterprise and by doing so helped Jeth and the crew evade capture by the ITA. Even Jeth had thought about how much easier it would be if they were under Dax's protection, as they had been under Hammer's for so long.