Resistance: Hathe Book One (17 page)

“
Not, I take it, in a complimentary way?” he
grinned.

“
Not
exactly. However did you offend her, or dare I not ask?”

“
You
dare, but Juanine would not thank me for answering.”

“
Jaca, not another!” Marthe shook her finger in mock
approbation and, in reply, he fell into a pose of melodramatic
dolor.

“
Ah,
but my Lady don’t you know it’s all due to my very sad background.
Never once was I allowed to know the sweet pangs of hunger, to
endure the strengthening discipline of refusal, the constraint of
somnolent colors in my dress. It was all most tragic. Nor did my
parents soil their hands with honest labor, choosing instead to
depend entirely on the fruits of their disgustingly formidable
intellects. Quite beyond the pale, I fear.” A sigh of great lament
escaped his anguished countenance and a trembling hand was pressed
sadly to his twinkling eyes.

Laren
applauded slowly, a wry smile on her face. “A remarkable
performance, Jacquel. You have missed your true
calling.”

“
Oh
no, he hasn’t,” countered Marthe. “Ah, me, what a degenerate, what
a good-for-nothing, what a filthy
Lieger
you are, Jaca. If
that doesn’t convince the Terrans that the peasants and Haut Liege
are genuine, nothing will.” She threw herself into a pose equally
as haughty as his. “I vow sir, your lack of serious sentiment quite
dismays me. A lost case indeed.”

“
Just as long as you both remember you’re playacting,” warned
her father. “Some of our people have been peasants so long, you may
just convince them you’re important. Heaven help the day either of
you has a jot of power in Hathe.”

All he
got in answer was a laughing smile from Laren, and the disdainful
silence of the wickedly affronted from Jaca. Marthe chose only to
grin and hug her father, holding on to his strength as long as she
could.

His
arms closed hard around her, and the mood suddenly changed. “Be
safe, my daughter. You are so brave, so like your mother. You and
Bendin. We never knew what you would get up to next. So stubborn,
so wild the pair of you. I can’t lose you too.” Then he released
her, and almost pushed her away. “Go and do what you must, and know
we will always be with you.”

She
could say nothing, could do no more than lift her hand in farewell
and in thanks, but his face she printed into her heart before she
turned and walked around the corner and down the corridor leading
her back to the shuttle and duty, back to Hathe.

Seated
on board the transporter shuttle a short while later, Jacquel
thought over Sylvan an Castre’s last words. The asn Castre twins.
Always they had lived on the edge. Jacquel knew well the fire
Marthe usually kept hidden, knew too the times when she could no
longer contain it, how it would burst forth in a passionate storm
of misplaced energy. How often would she be tested when they
returned to captivity, tested to her limit? Bendin had been big and
strong, a tall, bright flame of a man.

It
hadn’t saved him.

Then
again, after four years of rigid discipline, Marthe held herself in
check rather better than had her younger self. As for the young
Bendin! Jacquel grinned suddenly, remembering the one stolen,
off-planet visit they had made together. Their conduct would not,
he recalled, have commended them to their elders.

“
What’s so funny?” She’d been so quiet.

“
You
were asleep a moment ago.”

“
No,
just dream gazing. How long do you think it will be till we sit in
a modern transporter again?”

“
Five months of course, more or less.” Though he knew her
thoughts were of a more philosophical nature, Jacquel deliberately
chose to answer the literal question. It was safer. Fortunately,
Marthe chose to follow his lead, chatting instead of family trivia.
The serious discussions had already taken place and no more was
really needed than a short briefing once they landed, to bring them
up to date with events since their departure.

For
Marthe, disembarking shortly afterwards and once more assuming her
dull peasant robes, it was as if she had returned from a dream.
What did those clean, white corridors, those soft clothes of that
colony in the sky have to do with this, the real world. A world of
dirt, rough garments, harsh voices and the heavy boots of the
conquerors.

First
on their schedule was a meeting with the sector commander, Gof deln
Crantz. Marthe had heard much of the bravery and resourcefulness of
this man but had never before met him, as she had always worked
under direct orders from the Council. What a surprise, then, to
find herself confronted by a small, balding, cheery little man,
most decidedly running to fat—a man she had seen many times about
the Citadel, scurrying along with supplies from the townspeople for
the Terrans.

“
Old
Raphe!”

“
Yes, old Raphe, as I am known. Affectionately, I hope.” It
was a beautifully cultured voice, quite at odds with the body of
its owner and totally unlike the hoarse, crackly tones of the
little carrier that she was used to hearing.

“
My
apologies, sir. I did not mean any disrespect,” she said in hasty
confusion.

“
That’s quite all right, my dear. Only a few of the permanent
planetary staff know of my disguise—a very useful one for moving
about the settlement, as you can imagine, though not exactly one to
lend me dignity,” and he gave a short chortle at his own
expense.

He
fixed them with a stern look that brought Marthe to stiff
attention. “To proceed. We haven’t been able to ascertain the
nature of the major’s illness, but a girl was ordered to clean his
apartments by tomorrow morning so we must conclude that he could be
returning to active duty any time after that. Both of you, in the
meantime, have had a session with the guards.” He waved his hand at
the vidscreen. “Neither was particularly civilized, if you wish to
complain at a later date, but your covers are still intact. We also
have a new type of communicator for you, hopefully undetectable
this time. So far, they haven’t identified any of the others who
were caught with the wrist patches. The major was only particular
in his identification of you, des Trurain. An interesting point.
Could it be that our opponent is a man of his emotions? A rare
attribute among the Terrans.”

He
broke off to ponder the idea, ignoring them for quite some
minutes.

“
Where was I?” he said suddenly. “Yes, your communicators.
Here you are.” He handed over two, thin slivers of translucent
material. “Fit them behind the left ear, into the cleft. They
surely won’t look there. Now you are ready to go. Asn Castre will
leave first, with des Trurain to follow. In case anything happens,
we don’t want any connection to be found between you. Off you go,
my girl, and good luck.”

“
Thank you, sir. I shall do my best.” She turned to squeeze
Jaca’s hand lightly, before passing out of the room into the hands
of her guide. She nervously squelched a wish that Jaca could have
walked out with her, together one last time, for who knew how long.
It was for the cause. Remember that.

Jacquel was about to follow when he was detained by the touch
of a hand on his sleeve.

“
A
word with you first, des Trurain.”

“
Sir?” A surprised Jacquel turned back to face the suddenly
serious little man.

“
Agent asn Castre. We haven’t let it be known that she has
been instructed to cooperate with the Terrans and, in consequence,
she is likely to meet with a great deal of hostility from our
people. Can she cope with it?”

“
Of
course she can. Sir,” he added belatedly.

“
Loyalty—a truly venerable virtue.” murmured Deln Crantz,
“It’s fact I require, young man.”

Jacquel stood silent. What could he say? He took time to
consider … what? His little Mimi, the lifelong friend and more, and
agent asn Castre, the resistance operative. He took a deep breath
and hoped his voice sounded surer than he felt.

“
She’s strong enough, sir. Deep, though, and it will hurt her
greatly. Still, she has as much chance of coping as any other, as
long as you don’t expect her to take it in silence. She’s as likely
to rip into any stupid enough to sneer as she is to bow down
meekly.” He paused, thinking hard. How could he make this man
understand Mimi? He didn’t understand her, not all the time. “I
have never quite figured out how she works. I’ve seen her hold
herself under the most rigid control despite gross provocation, yet
at other times a mere slight will send her off. I think, sir, all
we can hope is that her control will last as long as necessary.
Remember, she has endured much from the Terrans these last years,
yet hasn’t once lost hold of her temper while on a mission.” He
looked at the man, challenging him to disagree.

“
Thank you, des Trurain. You have been very helpful. You may
go now.” The senior man seemed to lose all interest in him and
turned in his chair to confront the far wall.

Silently, Jaca let himself out, a confused tumult inside him.
Had he just damned or praised Marthe? By the Pillars, let him have
helped her. She was going to need it.

CHAPTER NINE

The
black waves receded in great, gulping ebbs as Hamon gingerly opened
one eye. A blur of antiseptic whiteness greeted him—sterile and
unexpected. He panicked and scurried back to the nothingness
within, then opened his eyes again in a confused rat-a-tat of
blinks. Slowly, recognition of his surroundings filtered through.
The medic wards. How in hell had he come to be here? There was
something about Ferdo, but what else? He tried to rise, only to
fall heavily back as the tides crashed in again and set him adrift
on warm, gentle currents of forgetfulness. Come, sink into
oblivion.

Can’t, mustn’t
, the voice within nagged. Why not?
Because, because,
came the insensate reply. No, he raged.
Much easier to lie back and submit to the blankness.

Persistently, valiantly, the niggling inner voice pushed
forward again and again, clawing at the breaches of his retreat.
A girl. There was a girl somewhere.
Just over those grey
walls which kept him safe from the world. Her hands clung, white
knuckles clenching tight, as slowly, slowly, someone dragged her
inexorably down into whatever dread mire lurked on the far side.
Damn them all to oblivion, he knew he had to follow the girl, catch
hold of her and keep her dangling above the mire—not safe, but not
engulfed either.

Back, back,
he cursed to the kind darkness. Piece by
piece, consciousness returned. One eye stayed open. The second
joined it as he fixed on a notch in the far wall, a break from the
perfect smoothness that trapped him. One point, one focus on
reality. Grimly, he stared at it, determined to use that tiny notch
as his key to awareness and, the stars help him, to
responsibility.

It
began to return. The enemy woman, so proud, so distant. The room.
The screams … and the awful void of her face at the end.

Marthe—his
daemon
and his redeemer.
This time,
Hamon, you’ve really done it. Your world or hers,
came the
jeering, laughing voice.

Then a
new voice intruded, real and solid with humanity. He could only
welcome it.

“
Major Radcliff. You’ve finally woken. How are you
feeling?”

He
opened both eyes, aware of a niggling pain in the base of his head,
and saw a starched white uniform and a kind, competent face. “Nurse
Trenwyth?” he said, remembering a friendly, reserved woman from the
early weeks of planetary acclimatization.

“
That’s right. Pleased to see your memory’s not affected. What
about the rest of you?”

He
thought for a bit, reviewing what he could feel of the lump that
passed for his body. “I feel a bit woozy and my head hurts. Nothing
too serious,” he finally decided, then attempted a smile. “Do you
know what happened to me? How long have I been here?”

“
The
second question is easy. About five days. As to the first, we can’t
say for sure. There’s no sign of any physical damage in your
neuroscans. The doctor’s current best guess is that some
overwhelming emotional stress caused your brain to … well … shut
down. You’ve been in a comatose state ever since.”

He
scowled at her, thoroughly insulted. “Stress isn’t exactly a
stranger to any inhabitant of Earth.”

“
Maybe so, Major. Perhaps you’ve been under an extra strain
lately. Something certainly sent you into overload. You look much
better now, though, and we should have you out of here by
tomorrow.

“
Tomorrow! After five days, my desk must be spilling over. I
can’t afford more time off. Another couple of hours at most. I have
work to do, nurse.”

It
seemed that long experience had taught Nurse Trenwyth the value of
a soothing, white lie. “You may be right, Major. Why not get some
sleep now, and I’ll send you in a bite to eat shortly.”

Smiling in reassurance—as if at a recalcitrant child, he
thought gruffly—she made a small adjustment to the couch
temperature then turned and left, leaving Hamon alone with his
decidedly ruffled pride.