Resistance: Hathe Book One (12 page)

“
More urgonium? But why?” she said, swiftly hiding her stunned
amazement at his words. Earth had been their largest buyer, taking
far in excess of its needs surely?

“
To
survive, of course. How else were we to keep the food processors
operating, let alone the de-polluters, transporters, heat
exchangers and all the other paraphernalia a very, very crowded
planet needs to survive?”

“
Is
Earth very crowded?” She knew exactly Earth’s population, but
needed time to recover.

“
Very. I do not think even your peasants could have any
comprehension of what a hell that once-so-glorious planet has
become. It’s why, Mathe help me, we had to indulge in this sordid
occupation.” His shoulders hunched. “And then we get here and find
we can’t get the damned stuff out in any but the most minimal
quantities. All your technology had fled. Stars, what a joke. What
a razzing, cursed joke!” He sat back, eyeing her bitterly, the one
person who could solve his problems.

She
couldn’t meet that look, turning away to hide her amazement.
Granted the recovery rate of urgonium was not as high as in the
past, but the Terrans were still extracting enough to supply the
entire Alliance! She carefully began to question him about life on
Earth and found it harder and harder to believe what she heard.
They had always known the Terrans were backward in energy
technology, but if what he was saying was correct, Earth was at
least a generation behind the rest of the Alliance, relying on one
source, urgonium, for absolutely everything. And that in a grossly
inefficient manner. Surely they had heard of modern developments!
Not even Earth’s pompous self-absorption could have led to such
isolation, could it?

What a
mess. All that her home had suffered these four years past, simply
because Terrans were too ignorant to look after themselves
properly.

Anger
churned in her, igniting a deep resolution. She would fight this
man with all the guile at her command, and right now she felt
little of the fascination he had earlier evoked in her. She was as
angry as she had ever been in her life, almost as much as the day
she had seen her brother’s body returned, bloodied and
mutilated.

She
must not let her anger take over. Not yet, despite the gut
wrenching scream lodged in her throat, making talk impossible.
Anger was too dangerous now. Time enough to let him feel the full
depth of her fury when Hathians again owned Hathe. Struggling for
control, she leaned back into the comfort of the chair fighting for
breath. A fake smile, and air returned to her lungs; but she
twisted the talk away to safer channels, frightened of what she
might reveal.

Hamon
went along with the change, but was not fooled. He’d seen the shock
of his words in the subtle tension of her face. She was very
interested in what he had told of Earth. Why? He fell to studying
her, trying to fathom what lay behind those shaded features. Not
only had she been trying to milk him all evening, but she was also
hiding something. He supposed knowing that eased his conscience, if
nothing else; but the lady had better start talking
soon.

She
shifted uneasily under his stare and spoke quickly, filling the
deadly silence that had fallen between them. “You said you had a
run-in with Bendin once. What happened?”

His
mouth twitched. It was so obvious that she was trying to distract
him. He answered her anyway, repeating the story he’d told Ferdo.
“We both fancied the same lady and he took exception to my greater
success.”

“
Fancied? Bendin never merely
fancied
a woman. He had a
disastrous habit of imagining himself involved in the romance of
the century every time he met a new ladylove. There were ten such,
if I remember rightly. I can just imagine how furious he would have
been at your stealing his latest from under his eyes. But surely
that’s not why you dislike him? Not over such a trivial
matter.”

“
Your brother didn’t think it trivial. I was at a reception at
your house not long after, and he had me thrown out. An accredited
envoy, visiting the planet on official business, and he treated me
like gutter trash. All because I was gazing over a balcony rail at
you and your sister. You were quite a woman in your younger
days.”

“
Thank you, I think. The last four years have been rather
trying.”

“
Have they? I wonder. And I don’t want to hear that hackneyed
tale of yours again.”

The
abrupt attack deliberately slashed at her defenses. He watched her
desperately scrabble for purchase in their deadly duel of wits as
he compelled her to meet his eyes. This time he was the better at
hiding how much he longed to forget duty for just one night and ask
her about something entirely different. “Two Haut Liege turning up
in the one place is too much of a coincidence for anyone.
Especially two such good friends.”

She
jumped up, a dark red flush of anger in her cheeks. “You should
have asked him before you had him put down,” she retorted, rising
and whirling round away from him, as if desperate to
escape.

It was
a mistake. Color deserted her face, a stark white as the blood left
it and her eyes glazed over. She clutched at a nearby table,
fighting back against the threatening faintness. The table crashed
under her and she crumpled to the floor.

She
came to, cradled in his arms as he forced liquid into her
unyielding mouth. A look of confusion on her face, she pushed out
at him, fighting off his help.

“
Stop that. It’s only water and glucose. Drink it down before
you faint again.”

Weakly, she did as she was told, then struggled to sit up.
Another wave of dizziness hit as soon as she raised her head. Drops
beaded on her forehead as her body flushed then paled, and her hand
pushing at him was terrifyingly weak.

Hamon
looked at the woman in his arms and knew defeat. Her face was
stripped of life, the etched darkness beneath her eyes a mockery to
his precious duty. Cursing softly, he picked her up and carried her
gently into the bedroom to lay her on his sleeper.

“
Lie
there, don’t move, and be sensible for a change. After this long
without food or sleep, you should be conserving your energy, not
trying to pick my brains.”

There
was no answer from Marthe. Exhausted and drained, she looked ready
to dissolve into tears and barely seemed to notice as he lifted his
hand to remove the band from her head to let her fall into
desperately needed sleep.

It was
a long time before Hamon found any rest. He stayed all night by her
side. She was as tough as the land she took her strength from, but
surely even she would not hold to her silence past the point of
survival. Would she? Even the cruelty of a session was preferable
to that!

In the
earliest hours of sunrise, Marthe was crudely woken. The Terran had
thrown the frigid splosh of a wet cloth on her face. Spluttering
and with a head that felt as if half the city had been dumped on
it, she struggled to rise, staring bleary-eyed at her tormentor.
Gone was the gentle man who had held her last night.

“
Go
away, I’ve only just fallen asleep,” she wailed
miserably.

“
Six
hours ago, to be exact. Plenty of time for anyone. Right now, there
are questions that need answering. You’ve stalled long enough, and
I warn you, if you refuse to tell me what I want, I am prepared to
use less civilized methods. You will talk then, believe
me.”

She
was dragged from the comfort of the sleeper and forced out to the
lounge. As if caught in the middle of a brokenly repeating vidtape,
she found herself standing locked in place once again by a force
field, as he paced angrily in front of her, snapping questions from
all sides.

“
What were you really doing in the Citadel. Why were you sent
here?”

“
Eating jerbels. It’s not allowed for natives. And shirking
duties,” she said defiantly, refusing to understand his real
question.

“
What duties?”

“
The
road. Repairing the road by the gate.”

“
For
how long?”

“
Two
months since. They co-opted my street.”

“
Which street, your address?”

“
Twenty-two First Circle. A room by the wall.”

“
How
convenient. Was there a door through the wall?”

“
No,
it’s far too strong and what with. . .” She glared angrily, her
head buzzing from the battery of questions.

“
And
your neighbors? Their names and occupations?”

She
gave them. All had since shifted, but the Terran records still had
them registered there. Then suddenly:

“
The
patch. What is it really?”

“
A
wound dressing. Very common.”

“
You
lie,” he yelled, banging a hand on a nearby table, making her jump
as the blow scudded through her aching head. If only she could
collapse back into lovely, lovely sleep.

“
Once more, what is it? An identification badge, a secret
symbol? Or some device, a communicator perhaps?”

“
No.
A mere dressing,” she repeated wearily. “Believe me, that’s
all.”

She
felt him studying her, seeking a flaw, some crack in the wall of
her intransigence. She refused to give him one. Weakened she might
be, but she was not beaten yet. He came closer, grabbing her
roughly by the arm.

“
You’ve had your chance, madame. Now it’s time to be
introduced to our technology. Not as advanced or as utopian as
yours perhaps, but very effective. Come.” He pulled her towards the
door.

The
threat in his voice was not lost on Marthe. She had heard tales of
the victims of Terran refinements. It was present ever afterwards,
they said, in the depths of their eyes. Fear seized her, struggling
to smother what courage she could still muster as she was forced to
march down the unwelcoming corridors, deeper and deeper into the
military heart of the fortress.

Too
soon, they stopped before a pair of doors, much like any other, and
were passed in, to be greeted by an incongruously cheerful “Hello”
from the room’s sole occupant, a ruddy-faced, pleasantly smiling
young man. All around him was bank upon bank of instrumentation,
looking stupidly like the navigation room of the only
interplanetary ship she had been aboard.

Two
guards kept an attentive watch in the outer corridor, and Radcliff
locked the doors from the inside before turning to the young man,
who had, meanwhile, been scrutinizing her in far too familiar a
fashion, decided Marthe, even given her curiosity value. Her best,
frigid Haut Liege glare answered that. Radcliff, unfortunately, was
not looking at her at the time.

“
All
set, Ferdo?” he said, in a tone indicating friendship with the
brash young Terran.

“
Just about. The Colonel wasn’t too keen on letting me use his
precious gadgetry. As though I haven’t used a more pleasant version
the stars know how many times. Now, if the lady would care to take
her seat, we can begin.” Ferdo waved her to a chair, placed in
front of a newly installed panel. “By the way, we’re still as
stumped as ever with this weird patch of yours, Hamon.” He frowned
at the harmless looking strip on a nearby bench.

Her
captor was still looking at his friend and missed Marthe’s quickly
hidden excitement. Could she do it, could she get to it? “Hopefully
you’ll find something soon,” Radcliff said. “But forget about that
for now. Come, madame, the chair.”

Marthe
didn’t obey. She stared at the board, edging backwards in fearful
horror. “No,” she whispered.

“
Since you refuse to speak, there is no other choice.”
Radcliff grabbed for her, but she swung away and sprang towards the
far side of the room, flinging herself against the back bench in
cornered dismay—the bench on which lay that small, clear
patch.

The
Terran Major pleaded with her softly. But Marthe saw that his
friend’s eye was on him, doubting his loyalty it seemed. His mouth
set, Radcliff beckoned to the other man and both leapt at her.
Marthe acted as if she was beyond fighting, overcome by fear and
allowed herself to be dragged to the ominous chair. There was just
time for her to clench down hard on her wrist, before the force
field gripped her and movement became impossible. Unseen to her
tormentors, she felt the blessed coolness of the patch, latching on
as if to a lost limb as she had brushed against the bench. She was
once more in contact with her own people, whatever was about to
happen.

The
next minute, a concealing mask came down, blocking her eyes, and
the darkness took her. A fraction of a second’s grace only, then
footsteps approached. Lighter, too abrupt, not Hamon’s foot steps.
Around her, surrounding her, coming closer and closer.

Hamon
would not hurt her, not unless pushed to extremity. Why she
believed that, she didn’t know, but she did. But Ferdo Braddock,
the other Terran? The one who watched Hamon and waited for him to
betray Earth.

Then
she remembered. This was extremity, for Hamon, for her.