Space Trek (Three Novels, Three Worlds, Three Journeys Book 1)

by Jo Zebedee

  Michael had refused to show her Simone’s report but he’d told her what it contained. He’d made her sit down and had held her hand while he described what they’d done to Kare. He’d had to stop several times, his hands shaking, but he’d kept going. She’d listened, knowing he wasn’t telling her everything, that he considered some things too much for her to know. What more could they have done?

  A memory flashed in front of her of Kare, the day he’d been promoted to colonel, when she’d teased him into bed with her. After, as he’d got dressed– running late for his meeting– she’d watched him pull his clothes on. He’d been perfect, tall and strong. Now, according to the doctor, Kare had more scars than he had clear skin. He was like an old man, the report said, just about alive. Tears stung her eyes and she willed herself not to cry again. Months. They’ve had him for months, and all this time, they’ve been torturing him. Tears welled over her eyelashes and down her cheeks. She didn’t try to wipe them away– why shouldn’t she cry?

  “I think so,” Michael said. His skin was drawn and lined, his eyes rheumy. “I’m sorry, Sonly, about Kare.”

  “It’s not just Kare,” she said. “I miss them all.” She wished Lichio was here, to wrap his arms around her. Or Silom. The doctor had said they were in one of the quarries. The idea of Lichio, her laughing little brother, being worked to death sickened her. And Silom. She hoped they, at least, were together and able to support each other. Would they be with each other when they died? At that, fresh tears started. She had to stop crying, somehow.

  She went to the computer and read the message she’d composed, moving her hand over the “send” command. She waited a moment before she pressed it with a sharp stab of her finger. It was gone: moving across the star systems; bouncing from ship to planetary booster, into deep space to Belaudii.

  “So that’s it, then,” she said. “I’m going to my bunk, Michael; if there’s any response, let me know.”

  As she walked to the women’s barracks, she wondered if Kare would have done things differently. She wished she had. She lifted her chin, determined to do what had to be done; she owed him that, at least.

  CHAPTER FORTY

  Sam followed Beck as he led the heavily shackled Kare to the small transport. They passed the port staff, who jeered and spat at Kare, but he kept his head down, docile.

  “How long to the quarry?” Sam asked.

  Beck turned his head to answer and Sam shivered, not for the first time, at the flat look in his eyes.

  “Not far; twenty minutes.”

  Sam dug a bottle of water out of his bag and took a sip. He handed it to Beck, who took a swig and offered it back. Sam looked at the bottle. He couldn’t bring himself to drink after him. “Keep it. I have another one.”

  They flew out of the port and over the palace gardens, a green oasis in the midst of the stone city spreading into the desert. As the city faded into the distance, they passed over one of the quarries and then soared high over the desert, the Abendauii winds pulling at the transport. They sat in silence, the only noise Kare’s breathing, rasping against the constriction of his collar.

  “Shut up,” growled Beck.

  “Yes, Master,” whispered Kare.

  He put his head back as far as the collar would let him, and his breathing quietened. As Sam drank his water, Kare licked his broken lips before he glanced at Beck and closed his mouth. Sam set his bottle down, not able to swallow any more of it. Whatever else le Payne was right about, he didn’t enjoy seeing pain.

  The ship swooped down to a smaller quarry beneath. Beck drank the last of his water before he checked the prisoner’s chains, smiling as his rough tug forced a hiss of pain. Sam watched him, silently, sure this bastard would be his murderer as well as Varnon’s.

  They landed, and Sam left the transport. He waited while Beck and Kare got out. They entered a huge cargo lift and as it descended, the air become moist and warmer. A combined smell of diesel and sweat grew. When the lift stopped, he opened the doors and the quarry’s intense heat enveloped him. Fine dust made him cough slightly. Almost immediately he heard the unmistakable sound of a lash.

  “I’m going to take this dog to his cell, Doc; you’re to report to the clinic,” said Beck.

  Sam nodded and stepped carefully across the quarry, past slaves who continued their work as he passed through a huge entranceway, hewn out of the red rock, on the other side of the cavern. He looked back at the quarry; it was similar to how he’d imagined hell.

  ***

  Lichio tossed a rock into the cart alongside him, lifted his blunted pick, and leaned over to break the next. Months ago, the pick had seemed too heavy to lift, the giant Belaudii’s gravity higher than that of Holbec’s. They’d beaten that out of him; now he lifted and smashed all day, barely conscious of the weight. Sweat poured down his back and exhaustion ran through him like a wire joining each part of his body. He wanted to sit down and refuse to get back up again, but knew he’d be forced to go on.

  He leant forwards, coughed, and pain ripped across his chest and back, worse today than previously. He heard the lift descend but concentrated on his work, careful to turn his head away as he cracked the rock. His arms and legs were toughened to the sharp shards, but he had a fear of them near his face and eyes.

  At a soft hiss, he glanced at Silom on the tier above. He was thinner now, but still one of the strongest Banned prisoners.

  “The lift.” Silom brought his pick down, heavily.

  Lichio looked down at the main section of the quarry and saw Beck, and the loss of Kare hit him harder than ever. As the most senior officer left, a le Payne to boot, he did his best but he was no Kare Varnon, and he missed him, every day.

  Silom stopped work. He stood upright and stared at Beck, a look of hatred on his face.

  “Stop it,” Lichio said. “They’ll see you.”

  Silom put his pick down and straightened his back. “Oh, sweet lord,” he said, his face paling.

  Lichio followed his gaze. He, too, stopped and stared. His mind tried to reject what his eyes were telling him. “That’s not him.”

  “I’d know Kare anywhere, and that’s him.”

  Lichio looked at the prisoner standing beside Beck. Silom was right, there was no one else it could be. He took in Kare’s hair– pure white now, not black– and thin frame, so thin he looked barely able to stand. His eyes were cast down, no brilliant green defiance in place any longer, his neck encased by a–

  Lichio spun to stop Silom, but he was already striding down the quarry path, his eyes fixed on Beck.

  “Silom, no!” shouted Lichio, following. He caught up and put his hand out to stop Silom, but the bigger man shrugged him off and advanced on Beck, who waited with a sneer on his face. Two guards grabbed Silom and held him back.

  “Kare!” called Silom, but Kare didn’t lift his head. Lichio stood in silence, too stunned for thought. Beck walked over, and Lichio moved to stand beside Silom. He was dwarfed by the other men, but defiantly held his ground.

  “I’ll explain it once,” said Beck. “Your friend took a long time to submit. He can’t take any more pain; his mind will do what it must to limit it. The best thing you can do, if you really are his friends, is ignore him, let him go.”

  Lichio looked at Kare’s scars, recognising what had caused some of them. He wanted to shake him for not submitting earlier but he guessed even if he did, Kare wouldn’t know him. The idea of Kare not knowing him, not knowing Silom, seemed unreal– what did you have to do to someone to get him to that point? His fists clenched in helpless anger.

  “You sick bastard,” snarled Silom. “How much did you enjoy hurting him? Torturing him until you ruined him?”

  Silom threw off his guards and punched Beck, solidly. Beck reeled backwards, but as Silom moved forward, more guards arrived and pulled him back.

  Lichio yelled as a whip came down on his shoulders and its initial flare of agony started to grow and blossom. T
he guards pulled him to a whipping stand, Silom to another. As each lash fell, wrenching his skin apart in hot spears, his screams mingled with Silom’s. Through it all, the vision of Kare remained, reminding him there were worse things to face than a lashing.

  ***

  Sam walked into the small room at the medical centre, and put a jug of water on the cabinet beside a bed. He wrinkled his nose at the stench in the room and looked at Beck, who was lying on the bed, groaning.

  “Your stomach?” Sam asked.

  Beck nodded, and Sam rifled in his medicine bag before he took out a needle, carefully filling it with some clear fluid. He pulled Beck’s sleeve back and injected him.

  “That will help with the pain. I can’t do anything else until I know what’s causing it. Did you eat anything?”

  Beck shook his head and groaned.

  “We’ll have to quarantine you,” said Sam. “What will I do about Varnon? Send him to the quarry?” Another shake. “Keep him in lockdown?” This time Beck nodded. “Right, I’ll arrange it. Where are his meds?”

  Beck pointed to a small cabinet beside him. Sam opened it and pulled out a small package.

  “I’ll arrange a guard,” he told Beck, “and give them these. In the meantime, let me give you a drink.”

  The big guard rolled over and Sam looked at his pale, sweating face. He noticed the bruise on his jaw, and decided when he met Silom Dester he must shake the man’s hand. The story had gone round the quarry, the resident guards proud that one of their resident tough-nuts had shown Beck it paid to be careful around the inmates of Clenadii Quarry.

  Sam offered Beck a straw and he took a sip.

  “Keep drinking– lots,” Sam said. “I’ll get a nurse down to you and they can clean you up. In the meantime, I’ll order some tests.”

  At the sound of more filth voiding the torturer's body, Sam left, stopping briefly at the toilet before walking to the guardroom.

  “Who do I talk to about getting a replacement? Beck: he’s sick.”

  The captain of the guards turned to him. “We don’t have guards to replace him. Tell Beck we’ll keep a close eye on his prisoner, but he won’t have a personal guard.”

  “He’s supposed to have continual supervision. Plus, he has medication he has to take. Unless you want to face a very pissed-off psycher.”

  The guard laughed. “I don’t think Varnon’s going to keep us awake at night. He’ll be dead in a week down here. But we’ll keep an eye on him and you can give him his jabs.”

  Sam nodded. “Fine.” He tossed the small box of medication from hand to hand, and opened the door that led back to the quarry.

  CHAPTER FORTY-ONE

  The little light pulsed in front of him– tiny, but real and important. He tried to hook it, but it danced out of his grasp. It took some time before he managed to grab it and pull it towards him.

  Once pulled, it unravelled and spilt into every corner of his mind. It seemed like it would never stop, that he couldn’t accommodate it, but it sank into strangely familiar places in his mind.

  With the light came memories: a blonde woman, so close he tried to touch her. She faded away, replaced by a boy, red haired and earnest, who promised to protect him. One by one the visions came, confusing and elating in equal measure: an angelic youth; a harsh older woman; a cold, dark man; and then a girl, a child, with vivid green eyes. Karia, who looked exactly as she had when he’d said goodbye. He’d promised her it would be all right.

  “Kare,” she said. She rubbed his cheek, and he felt healed, stronger.

  “I’m Kare,” he replied, astonished. “I’d forgotten.”

  “You were alone; you shouldn’t have been.”

  “I’m not alone now.”

  Karia shook her head and she seemed further away, as if she had faded a little.

  “I can’t stay,” she said, “but there are others; you must go to them.”

  “I can’t, I daren’t; he’ll hurt me.”

  “If you don’t go now, you never will. They’ll take you back, soon.”

  He tried to reach her, to join her where she was. “Take me with you,” he pleaded, “don’t leave me alone.”

  “Please Kare, go on. Sonly will be there for you; your friends are waiting. Please, be brave; do it for me.”

  “I’m so glad it wasn’t you,” he said, and when there was no response he realised she had gone. He remembered he couldn’t say no to her, that he’d never been able to say no to her. He struggled to swim out of his dream, move up to the real world. He stopped several times, overwhelmed with effort, but finally managed to open his eyes.

  ***

  Kare tried to turn his head, but it throbbed when he did. He looked at the ceiling instead, and tried to work out where he was. There was a knocking noise, metal on stone, but it wasn’t familiar. Someone moved inside his cell, and he stiffened in fear. Beck. He forced himself to turn his head– it’s only pain– and saw it wasn’t Beck, but the doctor.

  Kare moaned: whatever Beck inflicted, the doctor fixed, and the fixing often hurt at least as much. He kept looking at the doctor, not able to face moving again, and reached out with his psyche. It worked. It should have been amazing, like a miracle, but he could feel nothing: he was dead inside, hollowed out, a shell who’d forgotten what it was to feel. Tears sprang up as a sense of what he’d lost, how far he’d been taken, grew, a deep dragging loss that filled him, held him down, was too heavy to remove.

  He tried to sense the doctor’s feelings, but his head filled with the sensation of all the people around him and he couldn’t concentrate or think. He stopped trying to do anything, and let his mind take over and sort through the information. Only after it had finished was he able to focus on the doctor.

  Kare opened his mouth to ask why, but it was dry and his lips were cracked. The doctor lifted a bottle of water and poured some into Kare’s mouth. Mostly, it went down his face and neck, but what little he did swallow soothed him. Kare licked his lips and winced at the sharp pain as they split.

  “You brought it back,” he croaked.

  Sam shook his head. “I stopped the medicine. You did the rest.”

  “Why?” This was a game, a new way to hurt him. They’d let him believe it was back, that he had a chance, and then they’d take it again. The thought of being returned made his bladder loosen. I can’t, I daren’t. The need went away.

  “Self-preservation,” said the doctor.

  Kare tried to respond, but it hurt too much. He imagined his lips healed: smooth, not cracked and sore, and his mind started to work at it. His whole mouth was sore, ulcers all through it, and he healed those, too. It was a drop in the ocean of pain that ran through him.

  He swallowed and winced at the pain in his throat. Any minute now, Beck was going to walk in the door and laugh at him. Kare wondered if it would be possible to stop his own heart, and decided if Beck walked in, he’d try.

  “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have stood back for so long,” said the doctor.

  This time, Kare felt the truth of the doctor’s words. Again, he wanted to ask about Beck but didn’t dare; it was as if saying his name might bring him here.

  “I’ve missed it,” Kare said, the words inadequate. Already his mouth was better, the forming of words uncomfortable instead of agonising.

  “They couldn’t have done what they did if you’d had your powers, could they?”

  Kare tried to nod his head. He couldn’t. “What’s on my neck?”

  “Your collar,” said the doctor. “Leave it, it can’t be removed.”

  Kare cast his mind back, and remembered Beck putting it on him and telling him he was his dog now. Beck had tightened it until he had choked, and then tightened it some more. He wondered why it seemed tighter in his memory than it did now, and realised they’d practically starved him. Again, he noticed how badly he needed a piss but when he tried, nothing happened. He looked at the ceiling, his eyes welling at the realis
ation he needed Beck to tell him to go.

  “Bastards,” he said, and knew it wasn’t even close to what he meant, that there were no words to say what had been done to him. He snapped the collar off his neck, flexing his mind in the old way, and took a first single, deep breath; it was like honey.

  “How did you do that?” asked the doctor, his eyes round.

  “I did it with the part of my mind that opens things.” He’d thought he would never say those words again.

  “How much is back?”

  “All of it,” Kare said. “Every bit of it. I just have to remember how to control it; I’d forgotten what a monster it is.”

  “What will you do?”

  Kare tried to sit up, but couldn’t. He wondered how the hell he’d been able to walk for Beck, and then remembered: his master had ordered him, so he had.

  “My best,” he said.

  “You need to put the collar back on. They’ll know if it’s off.”

  “Right,” Kare said. He snapped it in place, looser so he could breathe easily. Ask; you need to know. “Where’s Beck?”

  “He’s got a stomach bug,” said the doctor, grinning.

  “Good,” said Kare, but his mind was racing. How long would a stomach upset hold Beck back? Panic made his throat constrict and it was a moment before he could speak again. “I assume you have something in mind?”

  The doctor came closer. His voice was low, a whisper. “The Empress is due to leave Abendau tonight. She’s on the way to meet your wife to arrange the formal surrender of the Banned.”

  Kare tried to sit up again, and this time realised why he couldn’t; his wrists were shackled to the wall. Of course; I’m so dangerous, I have to be shackled all the time. He almost released his wrists and then decided there was no point; he’d only have to put them back on again.

  “You’re lying,” he said, sure this was a game. “She would die first, let everyone die, before she did that.”

  “She says if you can get to Abendau city, the spies will try to get you out.”

  The doctor’s eyes met his, and Kare watched him, sure it was a trap. The doctor held his eyes, not looking away. I have to know. He reached out, touching the edge of the doctor’s mind as the man tensed, ready to fight. He was no stranger to a psyche probe, evidently.