Resistance: Hathe Book One (24 page)

Sylvan
watched in amusement as Gof paced up and down the room, mesmerizing
his august audience.

“
Regarding Radcliff, I grant that he has not been so readily
duped,” he now said, in that entirely reasonable tone of his, “but
his interest in Marthe has distracted him, enough that he has let
his surveillance in other areas slip. Nevertheless, he’s still wary
of her, and of the whole Hathian situation. His people provide him
with a comprehensive overview of the Terran position of a kind
unmatched in the occupying forces, and he’s only too aware of the
Terrans vulnerability to attack by a resistance movement such as
ours. Our hope is that marrying Agent asn Castre will lessen his
anxiety. He knows that it will bind her to him and seems to even
have hopes that he can change her loyalties.”

“
Which he would be right to, wouldn’t he? How do we know she
won’t come to feel that her duty lies with the Terran
cause?”

“
You
forget that her twin brother was killed in our cause,” protested
Sylvan, unable to keep silent. He felt Gilda’s eye on him and hated
to guess what she saw in his face.

Gof
deln Crantz saved him again, once more taking firm charge. “From
discussions with Agent asn Castre, and from our own observations,
it is clear that she has already thought through all the arguments
you raise. She is also absolutely aware of the heavy losses we
would suffer if she changed sides. She will not let that happen to
her own people. It’s unthinkable, to her as much as to any of us.
Apart from which, her studies of the Terrans has led her to
conclude that Earth is the architect of its own problems and only a
shock such as we will give them can force them to face reality. The
Terran cause has become, in effect, our cause,” he finished with a
wry smile.

Sylvan
heard Gilda’s sigh beside him. She knew Gof as well as he, and the
last thing needed right now was one of his philosophical
rambles.

“
Time to end this?” she murmured to Sylvan. “Then you favor
the marriage,” she said in a firm voice to Gof.

“
Exactly, yes.” The small man nodded his head
enthusiastically. Then one of his wickedly dangerous grins
appeared. “After all, logic aside, do none of you remember when you
were young, just married and your beautiful wife was expecting your
first child? A very convenient absorption for our most dangerous
enemy.

Sylvan
would have liked to remind his so-called friend that this was his
daughter they were talking about. Unfortunately, that wasn’t
possible. “So can we vote on whether the computer comptroller
should proceed with arranging for a transmission wedding?” he said
and was thoroughly relieved to hear the muted agreement of his
fellow councilors.

The
vote was unanimous, if somewhat reluctant. Marthe had her
permission to wed.

“
It’s all very well,” said Trundain petulantly as the count
was announced, “But how are you going to hold a wedding with the
bridegroom knowing nothing of it?”

“
Major Radcliff is familiar with our customs and is aware that
the exchange of vows before two or more witnesses is a binding
marriage, at least upon Marthe,” replied Sylvan in the same, cool
tone he had striven to maintain throughout. “He knows it would make
her happy and has agreed to such a ceremony. He just won’t be told
quite all of the technical details.”

Gilda
rose abruptly and offered her arm to Sylvan. He took it gladly. She
was one of the few people outside his family he truly
trusted.

“
That’s all right then,” she said to the throng. “Now if
you’ll all excuse me, I have a deal of business to attend to.” She
steered Sylvan out of the room, ignoring the rising chorus of
disbelieving chatter behind them.

Once
past the closed door and around the corner, she slowed and turned
to him, looking at him anxiously. “How about a friendly ear for
those troubles.” Her free hand came down to stroke his arm that
held her still.”You can’t fool me into thinking you support this
marriage as much as you claim.”

“
We’re off record?”

“
Naturally.”

“
Then, no, of course I’m not happy. Would you be if your baby
daughter were to marry such a man? He is ruthless, charming, and
all too ready to use those charms to confirm his far too accurate
guesses about the true nature of our society. His is the only
department that regards the Haut Liege myth as a fabrication. Why?
Because he and his people alone have taken the trouble to talk to
our people. ” He made no effort to hide the strain he felt.
“They’ve fooled some of our most trustworthy agents into letting
slip enough details to hint at the existence of a resistance group.
None of it definitive, but quite enough for a man like him. He’s
more than capable of putting it all together and making guesses far
too accurate for our liking.

Gilda’s hand paused in its stroke then continued determinedly.
Sylvan sighed, then continued. “So far, he doesn’t seem to have any
idea of the level of technology available to us, but what he has
discovered has already made many projects significantly more
difficult. Is it so strange, then, that I’m not happy for my
daughter to bind herself to him?”

“
No,
not strange.”

His
own free hand came round to grasp hers roughly. He avoided her
eyes, and took a breath. “Yet some of what I’ve heard of the man …
it’s … there is much in him I could like, though I hate to admit
it. He’s never, as far as we know, indulged in torture, with the
exception of his manhandling of Jacquel, but that was personal.
More a case of boys fighting in the sandpit.”

“
Jealousy?”

“
Without doubt,” Sylvan said dryly, then swallowed, not sure
if he could ever forgive the Terran for this next bit. “Then
there’s what he did to Marthe. The session he inflicted on
her.”

“
Which resulted in
his
having some kind of breakdown,”
Gilda reminded him.

Sylvan
nodded, and thrust the memory back. He took another deep gulp of
life-giving air, then plunged on. “We do know that he acts out of a
genuine commitment to the survival of his own people, though much
in him is revolted by the Terran role here. Despite his earlier
actions, I have come to believe he truly cares for Marthe. I think
that’s real enough,” he forced himself to say. He paced agitatedly
up and back a step. “What a tangled mess it all is!”

“
So
the two are in love? The matter seems to have been tiptoed
around.”

“
Oh
yes. Marthe assures me that she loves the man, and he loves her,
despite everything that separates them. And you know, if
circumstances had been different I do believe I would be pleased
with the match. They are so damned alike!”

Marthe
turned up a face kissed with happiness and Hamon knew a rare joy.
He returned her smile—not as freely, not as openly. That was not in
him yet, but he knew she saw his love and understood. It was the
night of the Comptroller’s reception, and he’d managed to pull her
out of the crowd and into a small alcove, needing her to himself
for a precious time. They were still visible to a few others, but
right now he was too happy to be concerned about anyone who might
be watching them. He pulled her close in to his body and held her
contentedly, letting his gaze idly pass over the crowded main
assembly room of the Citadel. It looked as though every single
Terran who could be spared from duty was here tonight, all
competing, all aiming to appear the most elegant, the most
beautiful, the most stunning. They needn’t have bothered. Right
here in his arms was a woman who effortlessly beat them all and,
for this moment in time, she was his alone.

He had
taken particular care with his own dress tonight, needing to honor
her beauty with a suitable escort. He usually avoided reminding the
rest of the Terrans of his position and wealth back home, but
tonight, to protect this woman, he deliberately wore the
expensively tailored, dress uniform his father had insisted he
bring with him instead of the standard issue one the rest of the
men wore.

Suddenly, his idle survey of the rooms was shattered. A flash
of astonished rage engulfed him as his gaze lit upon the only other
man in the room dressed to rival him.

Des
Trurain.

Young
and exquisite—his civilian outfit a masterful example of discretion
yet with a dash of recklessness—the man was holding forth to a
captivated gaggle of ladies. No longer staid, duty-bound Terran
personnel, but giggling and simpering in delight as they basked in
the flattering wit of their new toy. On catching sight of Hamon and
Marthe, the newcomer gallantly rid himself of all but the most
intrepid of the ladies and hurried forward, a welcoming smile of
pure mischief upon his finely wrought face.

“
My
dear Marthe,” he exclaimed, bestowing a flamboyant embrace upon
each of her welcoming hands, before standing back a pace in
admiration. “Oh, yes,” he breathed, “very charming. Quite one of
your best efforts. That touch of gold: just the thing,” he added,
indicating the artless string of gold chain and pearls slipping in
and out of her shining curls.

A
sadness suddenly colored his voice. “That drop necklace. If only
you had it still.”

“
Jaca, how dare you remind me of our present poverty,” she
chided, laughing. “What a pretty greeting, I must say. You’ve not
even said hello to Hamon.”

Hamon
was still gripped by an icy fury, but managed some kind of smile.
Only Marthe appeared to notice any coldness.

“
Major Radcliff. To be sure, my apologies.” Jacquel extended
the barest fingertip in greeting. “How are you this
evening?”

“
Fine, thank you. To what do we owe the pleasure of your
company among us?”

“
It
is, isn’t it?” agreed the other. “It seems your commander doesn’t
share your suspicions, and has been moved to treat me as what I am,
a poor wretch of a refugee. Thanks, that is, to the kind petitions
of these ladies.” He took a moment to embrace each of the three
still surrounding him.

Hamon
looked at the women and recognized defeat. He said something,
anything, whatever it took to get him away from that place and
remove Marthe to the safety of his own circle of friends. Once
there, he was forced to act as if nothing was wrong—but only for a
short time. As soon as a diplomatic interval had passed, he hustled
Marthe into a quiet, very private corner where no one could see
them. He backed her into the wall, his two arms a rigid prison and
glared at her furiously.

“
What in hell is he doing here?”

“
How
should I know?” she said, in a voice that sounded far too innocent
to be real. “Though it is nice to see Jaca back in the kind of
world where he belongs and out of that dreadful prison of
yours.”

“
Nice? He was there for a reason. Who did you flash those
sweet eyes at to get him released?”

“
Me?
A mere Hathian order affairs among Terrans?”

“
That’s another matter,” he snapped grimly. “Just answer me,
who did you get to do your work?”

“
Why, no one. At least—”

“
What?”

“
I
did happen to mention some of his exploits in passing to Jocelyn
Hart and Helen Ravensbot.”

“
Stars, the two most lascivious women in the compound. You
have been studying us well. Who else are you manipulating? Apart
from me,” he added bitterly.

She
hadn’t expected that. He saw it in the sudden darkening of her
eyes.

“
Do
I compromise your position that much?”

So
many questions hid behind her words, questions that mustn’t be
asked. Not while they played this game of deceit. Yet still the
questions lurked, still he heard them, and cold sanity returned.
Anger was the last thing needed right now. Not with the bond
between them so fragile in its newness and fraught with
pitfalls.

Then
there was his duty. She had deliberately loosed des Trurain on
Terran society. Why he could not say, but he must find out. Which
he could not do unless both Hathians stayed under his
surveillance.

He
took a moment, breathing slowly, aware she watched him. Then he
lowered his arms to release her and stepped back. The subject was
closed and she nodded her understanding before he led her back to
his friends, soon becoming as seemingly ensconced as they in their
game of sticks, the bets voiced quietly, with one eye always on the
Commander.

Des
Trurain was a huge success, particularly with the ladies. His
outrageous compliments brought a blush to the cheeks of the most
duty bound professional, while his stories held the men enthralled.
Try as he might, Hamon couldn’t avoid hearing the buzz of gossip
that followed him. His men dutifully reported everything he
couldn’t hear himself.

The
Terrans listened with envy to the elaborately embellished tales of
des Trurain’s travels and of life on Hathe before the fall: the
beautiful women, the luxury and ease the man still took largely for
granted, the wealth there had been. He considered the stunning
Marthe to be almost reduced to sackcloth and ashes. Lacking any
decent baubles, he declared, when the woman was parading a load of
jewelry worth at least thirty thousand credits. Wealthy as the
Major was, even his pockets would have been strained by their
purchase, in the Terran view.