Resistance: Hathe Book One (3 page)

She
was in a closed passage, blocked at the far end by another pair of
metal doors. The lights came on, and Marthe saw a smaller door
opening to one side. She was taken through it, to find herself in
an immense triangular courtyard, bereft of natural life but for
soldiers and nervous, scurrying natives. In an office, a clerk took
down her particulars then tapped his voicecom.

“
Sir, we have a native girl on report. Data through to your
screen now. What period of punishment and duty assignment? Looks
reasonably young and strong, as far as you can ever tell under that
shroud of theirs.”

“
One
year. Major Radcliff mornings, prison kitchen the rest of the day,”
came the reply from the Committee.

“
Right, sir.” The clerk switched off, then looked up briefly.
“Thank you, Sergeant. That will be all for now,” he said,
dismissing the guard. Again, he spoke into the voicecom. “Agnethe,
to Admin immediately,” he said, and then turned back to his own
screen, taking no further notice of Marthe, though she now stood
unguarded within a hands breadth from him and could have easily
killed him. The man had no idea of the skills she had been forced
to acquire these last few years. She kept her head down and
maintained the image of a stray native girl, fearful in this home
of the conquerors. If only she were free to do otherwise. Marthe
had known so many
if only
moments.

Ten
minutes later, a large, native woman bustled in, the hood of her
robe slipping from her head to reveal a red-cheeked, smiling face
and wisps of unruly, damp hair beginning to grey. “My apologies,
sir. I was busy checking this evening’s meal for the officers when
you called, and it needed a few of my own touches. These ignorant
peasants know nothing of a gentleman’s palate, but I, who served in
the kitchens of Councilor Bodmin, understand these things. Not that
that degenerate would have noticed,” she added hastily.

“
Enough of your prattle, Agnethe. If the Commander was not so
attached to your cooking skills, that tongue of yours would’ve had
you banned to the mines years ago. You’re to show this new girl her
duties. She’s to clean for Major Radcliff in the mornings and work
in the prison kitchens the rest of the day.” With which he turned
back to his work and took no further notice of them.

“
Come on, dear, this way,” said the matronly woman, hurrying
Marthe out the door. “What’s your name, now, and how did you end up
in this godforsaken place?” she asked as soon as they were out of
the clerk’s hearing.

“
Riarda, please ma’am,” came the timid reply. The woman may be
one of her own, with an innate likeability, but Marthe’s briefings
had not included this woman’s security clearance level, and she was
not about to trust her with her real name. “I fell asleep and
missed the shutting of the gates yesterday evening. I also ate a
bag of jerbels that I’d gathered to sell to the
Terrans.”

“
Is
that all? I remember feasts of best bortch, with jerbels scattered
everywhere. Now we get imprisoned for a few! But times are what
they are. Come along, don’t dawdle, and call me Agnethe. Everyone
else does.”

Marthe
followed her obediently, attempting to make sense of the maze of
intersecting corridors and halls. Soon they passed into a new area
and through a security door that was bland enough in appearance,
but harsh experience had left her with a wary sixth sense for such
entrances. It hit her now, the hidden surveillance screens setting
off a fine humming throughout her body.

Beyond
it, the building changed. The corridors widened and the feeling of
being in a prison was no longer present. This must be the Terrans’
accommodation quarters.

“
Major Radcliff’s rooms are along here,” said Agnethe, waving
to a doorway. “A word of warning. The Terran may be only a major,
but watch him. He’s the head of Special Services and from a
powerful Earth family, I am told. He is also, I might add, very
particular over the state of his room and will bawl you out
properly if your work is not up to standard; but please him and
he’s been known to be extraordinarily kind. Especially to a young
lady like you,” added Agnethe with a chuckle. Then she became
serious again. “One thing more. He speaks Harmish, though Mathe
knows why he ever bothered with learning it. He’s a strange one, he
is—very keen on asking questions, so you be careful.”

She
threw open a door as she finished speaking, ushering Marthe into a
service cupboard. Then the woman opened the door on the far side of
the small room and Marthe entered a whole new world. They were in
an apartment, but this was like no place she had seen in all the
long and miserable years since the Terrans first landed. This place
was beautiful, filled with light, air and comfort. She could only
stand and gape, taking it all in. The bare plans of the Citadel she
had seen gave no hint of this reality.

A
profusion of plants graced the room in front of her, particularly
on the small balcony at the far end and, beyond it, she could see
the second of the Citadel’s great courtyards. It was as unlike the
barren oppression of the first yard as the character of the girl
Riarda was to her own true nature. She walked forward as if in a
daze, needing to see more of this miracle. The courtyard flourished
with trees and flowers in kaleidoscopic abundance. The sound of
water played from numerous fountains and shaded walks meandered
through garden beds.

Agnethe’s voice broke into the girl’s bemused entrancement,
following close behind her. “It may look lovely, but remember we
cannot appreciate it. We lack the quality of taste, so I’m told,”
she warned dryly. “Staff enter through the service door
only.”

She
went on to explain Marthe’s duties, leading her through the elegant
rooms. Marthe was silent, a properly cowed and frightened detainee.
At one point only did she interrupt. They were entering the
bedroom, Agnethe instructing her in the precise ordering of the
room, when Marthe happened to glance up. She gasped, eyes opening
wide in recognition. Agnethe looked across sharply then saw what
had startled her. Above the sleeper hung a painting of a house, a
very beautiful house. It was not a Terran house. Agnethe had seen
Marthe’s shocked recognition. The older woman’s hand came down on
her shoulder, to all intents guiding her fussily onwards. In
reality, the fingers bit into her skin. Marthe acknowledged the
warning with a humble downcasting of eyes.

“
A
pretty enough picture,” remarked Agnethe. “One of the filthy
Lieger’s City houses. The Major has an interest in such relics,
though why he keeps this particular one here is beyond
me.”

She
guided Marthe onwards, talking of duties again. Marthe listened
with but half an ear and could not stop herself from giving the
painting a last, quick glance as she left the bedroom. She had
recognized the house of a certainty, every single, wondrous line of
it. Her warning hum was back and at full magnitude.

It was
with a sense of relief that she followed Agnethe back to the native
section of the Citadel, almost welcoming its grimness. Here, she
was put to work preparing the prisoners’ evening meal, leaving no
time to spare for thoughts of the beautiful apartment with its
disturbing painting.

Later
that night, she managed to catch a free minute, sitting down in a
quiet corner of the large dining room beside a fellow native. The
breeches sticking out from under the customary cloak proclaimed him
to be male, but his face was hidden by his hood. The man shuffled
along to give her room, in the process separating them even more
from the few native staff still clearing up, then dipped his head
close to hers. Both kept their voices low.

“
So
you made it, little Mimi? And what huge crime did you commit to be
sent here?” It was the voice of a young man, a hint of laughter
breaking through despite the surroundings.

“
Nothing really, and don’t call me Mimi. Apart from Bendin
when he was trying to be particularly annoying, no one has called
me that since school, as you well know, Jaca. I’m to be known here
as Riarda, even by our own people, so just you remember it.”
Beneath her hood, she could feel her mouth twitching and there was
no longer even a hint of submission in her voice.

“
Does no one dare to tease the mighty Madame Marthe asn
Castre?” he retorted, chuckling shamelessly at her hasty warning
hush then throwing up his hands in apology. “All right then, what’s
your news? This area is shielded so we’re safe from their
eavesdropping, but stick to Harmish. No point in making things easy
for the Terrans.”

“
No,
it is not” she very pointedly agreed. “You got my last
transmission?”

“
Telling me you’d met with your cousin Griffith? Yes. I assume
he had all the deployments you sought, in clearest detail, right
down to the color of each Terran’s eyes?”

“
Not
quite, but close to it. And with very strict instructions for their
passage.” She laughed herself, though still quietly. “I don’t think
cousin Griffith will ever approve of me.”

“
By
the Pillars, may he not! Life wouldn’t be half as much
fun.”

“
Thank you, I think. Though even I have to admit that his
reports are excellent. Full visuals of weapon types, training
procedures and detailed specifications on numbers of soldiers and
their armaments. I passed it on as I came through town. Better
still, his was the last group of troops to be surveyed. We’ve now
all we need.”

“
If
that’s so, why were we sent here? All I’ve been told is to
familiarize myself with the Terran staff.”

“
It
seems a few of their senior officers are still suspicious of us.
We’re to study them and report back to the Council. Here’s the
list,” and she beat out a staccato of coded taps with her
fingertips on the clear communications patch on his wrist, a match
to the one she wore on her own. “All their leaders are based here.
We need to find out if there are any senior officers who might take
action against us. If so, the plan will have to be modified.
Whatever happens, though, the Council has confirmed that all is set
for the coming Zenith. Or so Father told me a few days
ago.”

Jaca
dropped his head suddenly, and then raised it to look directly at
her for the first time. She caught the faint shine of wetness
tipping his lashes and took his hand, squeezing it as she nodded in
affirmation. He dropped his head again, but not before she saw a
fierce relief seize him. She allowed him a moment then touched his
hand again. A shudder passed over him, as if at the throwing back
of a blanket, and his voice when he spoke held a determined
lightness, the subject inconsequential.

“
I
thought you’d been off planet recently. You smell a little too
sweet to have been long dirt side.”

She
took the hint. To speak too openly of the hope they had all clung
to so long was more than most could bear. She gave him a minute to
recover, then copied his nonchalance, wrinkled her nose and said
teasingly: “Unlike certain other people I might mention who are
certainly overdue for furlough.”

A
disgusted snort was his only reply. She ignored it and continued
with her report. “I arrived here yesterday, fell asleep outside
town and was found this morning by a Terran sergeant. He was ready
to book me for anything, but just to be certain I told him I’d been
eating jerbels.”

“
You’re allergic to the things.”

“
I
know that, but the sergeant didn’t, did he? It got me in here
anyway. I’m assigned to the prison kitchen, with mornings to be
spent cleaning for a Major Radcliff. Our people really came through
there. He was top of our list—Special Services head; and now I
learn that he speaks Harmish. Definitely a man in need of
study.”

“
Radcliff!”

Jaca’s
head had shot up and she saw, with surprise, his suddenly pale face
and grim mouth. The normally twinkling blue eyes were flat with
worry. “What is it, Jaca?”

“
I
wish you’d been assigned to anyone but that man.”

“
But
he’s ideal for our purposes. I hadn’t dared to hope we could get so
close to such a priority target.”

“
Maybe. All I can say is that if he so much as harms one hair
of your head, I’ll have him. In the few days I’ve been here, I’ve
heard more than enough about him. Where women are concerned, he’s
trouble.”

Marthe
stared. “What, by the Pillars, are you on about? I can look after
myself. I’ve done so these past four years and more, and rather
successfully, I might add.”

Her
argument did not impress Jaca. “Radcliff is no good,” he snapped.
“I’d back you in a physical fight any day, but that man won’t use
his fists against you. Sheer, galling charm is his favored weapon,
and he uses it only too well. You keep that hood in place. And
remember, he and his kind are responsible for the deaths of many of
our people, your brother included.”

“
That had better not mean what it sounds like. You forget, I
was there when they brought in Bendin’s body.”

“
All
I know is, Radcliff’s dangerous. You’ve got your com patch safely
hidden?”

She
nodded silently, her anger gone as quickly as it had come. She
could hear the fear for her in Jaca’s voice. She huddled closer to
him, seeking comfort. He relented at that and his arm came round
her and pulled her in for a short, hard hug.