Resistance: Hathe Book One (8 page)

“
Found him skulking in the women’s quarters, sir,” the guard
said, contemptuously throwing the bundle down at the Hamon’s
feet.

“
Well? What have you to say for yourself? What business had
you there and why did you evade the guard? Didn’t you hear the
order to report?”

A
whining voice, faintly familiar, begged forgiveness. “The woman,
sir. She wouldn’t let me go. I wanted to come,
honestly.”

“
That’s the one,” said Hamon, gesturing to the guard to pull
the man to a stand. Hamon shoved back the concealing hood. For an
instant he caught a spark of rebellious anger in the bright blue
eyes before the man dropped his head and assumed a pose of abject
servility. Hamon whirled, scanning the ranks of natives. There was
not a hint of motion, yet he would have sworn the man had responded
to an order. Do not cause trouble.

He
turned back to examine his prisoner. The Hathian was young, only a
few years less than himself but of a lighter build; he had a finely
boned face, silvery blond hair and those brilliant blue eyes. The
combination was decidedly striking, a fact that galled for some
reason, and there was a nagging sense of familiarity about him.
Hamon shrugged, unsettled and ill at ease, and flicked the hood
back over the native’s head.

“
Take him away, clean him up, run him through central
information and lock him up for the night. Then bring him to my
quarters, tomorrow at the second hour. Check the old Hathian
records too. You never know.” He turned to go, then, as if
remembering something, turned and grabbed the native’s wrist,
turning it over to reveal a telltale shiny patch. Seizing it, he
ripped it off and handed it to a nearby guard. “Take this to the
lab,” he ordered, “and search all natives for similar patches. Any
found wearing one is to be treated as this one, identified and
locked away.”

He
sensed the growing consternation in the listening natives. Absolute
terror would be his preference. They all huddled down into their
overrobes, arms hastily tucked into sleeves and trying to appear
even less visible than usual. He was right on the verge, he knew
it. Of what, he didn’t know, but after the months of frustration,
he was about to learn something.

He
didn’t stay to see the further results of his orders, too eager to
see the effect of his latest discovery on Marthe asn Castre.
Excitement rode him as he strode back through the Terran corridors.
At long, long last, was the enigma of this planet starting to roll
back?

Once
in his own quarters, he looked into the bedroom. His captive was
still sleeping, her bronze hair waving gently around the strongly
drawn face. He stood watching a second, but the need to defeat
these Hathians was riding him too hard to allow himself to be
lulled by her beauty, and he reached out to roughly shake one small
shoulder.

Marthe
came to slowly, still in that hazy, just awake state when all still
seems bathed in dreams. She gazed up at him, forgetting for a
moment the reality of her detention.

She
sighed, stretching languorously upwards, and then grimaced with
pain as she pulled on the injured skin of her stomach. She was
conscious yet of only some of what had passed before her sleep and
saw in Hamon merely the kind and gentle man who had carried her
here and soothed her pains.

“
Ah
Major, how long have I slept? It must have been some time for I’m
decidedly hungry.”

“
I
can imagine,” came the unexpectedly harsh reply, “but,
unfortunately for you, Terran supplies only run to those who earn
them. However, I’m certain your company at my table would enliven
my own dinner. If you would come this way?”

He
reached down and, grabbing her arm firmly, and led her to his
balcony where a table had been set out for one, though two glasses
and a water decanter had also been added to the extremely
appetizing offerings spread there.

“
Won’t you sit, my dear?”

He
politely motioned her to the empty end of the table. She did as
ordered and felt her feet gripped by another restraining field.
Still strictly polite, he filled her glass before settling himself
to his own chair and serving himself with every evidence of great
enjoyment.

Marthe
was definitely awake now and on full guard. She remembered Jaca’s
warning words and vowed that she would not again trust the dubious
charm of her captor. Yet her stomach growled, and it was only sheer
pride that prevented her reaching out and attempting to grasp
whatever she could as he tantalizingly swept one plate after
another in front of her.

“
Your Agnethe is one of the real treasures of this world,”
said Radcliff, sniffing appreciatively and helping himself to an
exquisitely tempting morsel from the selection of cheeses on the
table, before leaning back to savor his wine. “It has been a
remarkably full and profitable day, and to relax in the company of
one so beautiful seems a rare and fitting end to it. The water is
to your taste, I hope?”

She
was twirling the crystal goblet pensively in her fingers. “Quite,
thank you.”

“
Good, good. I regret you could not have shared in such a
pleasant dinner, but standing orders are clear. The Colonel may
overlook most of my activities, but I doubt whether he would
countenance wasting precious supplies on an enemy spy who has yet
shown no sign of cooperating with us. You have not, for example,
explained that so called dressing you wore, despite having no
injury.” He leaned forward, abandoning the smooth urbanity as he
awaited her reply. After a few minutes of observing her unflinching
silence, he shrugged and continued. “No matter, I’m sure the friend
who rescued you so gallantly the day I first noticed your charms
will be somewhat more helpful. We have him in custody and I am
quite confident he will reveal some small matter before his death
tomorrow.”

At the
careless announcement, Marthe’s hard-held composure cracked. “No,
you couldn’t. He is innocent, believe me. Please, you cannot. Not
J—” And she stopped herself just in time.

“
Not
who?” he snapped.

“
No
one in particular. You get to know most of the staff in such close
quarters.”

It was
too late, her false nonchalance, and she knew it. What was there
about this man that had her acting like the rawest of new recruits?
Yet still she must try to appear disinterested. He could not do
this to Jaca, not to someone so vibrant and alive. Jaca of so many
escapades and narrowly successful tricks, Jaca of her earliest
childhood, to be finally brought down by his protection of her. It
wasn’t fair, she thought, anger welling anew in her at the Terrans
and the ease with which they so callously disposed of her people.
Yet, the cooler part of her reminded, the death penalty was a rare
action; her people were far too valuable as workers.

Radcliff growled angrily as he broke into her thoughts. “Don’t
take me for an idiot. You are upset, too much so for him to be no
one in particular. He also wore a patch like yours and, strangely,
in exactly the same place. After tonight, we will have extracted
its true purpose. If not from him, then from one of the others
caught wearing one. We are rounding them up now and they shall also
be executed.

She
blanched.

“
Unless,” he added.

“
Unless what?”

“
Unless you talk.”

She
shook her head mutely, wanting desperately to plead that he spare
her this.

“
You
have till the morning to change your mind.” Releasing her from the
field, he walked her into the bedroom and laid her on the small
couch now set up beside the bed. Another field imprisoned her,
holding her rigidly still, “I’m afraid you will have rather an
uncomfortable night, but then a few sleepless hours of
contemplation may do you some good.”

He
left her then, and she could only lie there, alternately railing
against her captor then remembering Jaca’s face in fleeting
glimpses of past moments. Silently, in every tongue she knew, she
slowly and carefully cursed the tall, arrogant man cleansing just
meters away. Mathe, what a mess she had made of it! And now, for
the sake of the plan, she must allow Jaca to die.

She
heard Radcliff returning and shut her eyes, feigning sleep. He
leaned over her, apparently unaware of his nakedness, and adjusted
a control. She felt her eyelids dragged inexorably open. She stared
angrily at him, blushing at his state of undress.

“
Am
I not allowed the simple privacy of shutting my eyes?”

“
No,
for it also offers the privacy to plan and plot. This way, I can
observe those machinations. Your eyes are very
expressive.”

“
Then have the courtesy to put on a robe.”

“
Why? Am I ugly in your planet’s terms?”

“
You
know full well you’re not! But we value personal modesty more than
it seems is customary on Earth.”

“
It
has never bothered the other Hathian … ah, ladies I have
entertained. Why should it you? It’s not as if you are still the
girl barely out of her teens I saw on my first visit
here.”

What
was he talking about? Yet she refused to give him the satisfaction
of asking the question.

He
answered it anyway. “I was at your formal Presentation, and a rare
pleasure it was, I might add.”

“
If
I had known you were there, I can assure you the feeling would not
have been reciprocated,” she snapped back. With a final, supreme
effort, she managed to half shut her eyes.

It
didn’t stop her hearing his sudden crack of laughter, to her
eternal annoyance, or his brazen reply. “I think I’m going to enjoy
changing your mind on that one.”

He
leaned over then, to kiss her as he had longed to do since that day
he’d first seen her so many years ago, gently teasing at her
stubbornly held lips. If it was not all he hoped, there was yet an
instant when he felt the beginning of a response, before she again
retreated within her controlled shell. He lifted his head, the
mocking grin he deliberately sent her touched with real
satisfaction.

“
Go
to the darks,” she spat, trying valiantly to turn away and failing
miserably. But he seemed content with his taunting and rose,
checking the controls once more before retiring to his own
sleeper.

Soon,
to her even greater annoyance, she heard the sound of heavy,
sleep-ridden breathing. How dare he, and whether it was his
peaceful sleep or his kiss that angered her most, she could not
say. She lay fuming but, eventually, weariness began to overcome
her, her heavy eyelids dragging against the relentless force
holding them open. She strained to close them and finally managed
to achieve it—but only for a moment. As soon as sleep blessedly
came, her eyelids relaxed and were dragged open again. After the
fifth time this had happened, wretched tears started, tracing a
path of misery. The best she could do was to relax her eyes to an
unfocused blur, taking refuge in a trance-like state for the rest
of the long, weary night, her thoughts dwelling desolately on the
fate of Jaca.

It was
a tired and dispirited Marthe who greeted the Terran the next
morning. Apparently oblivious to her state, he released her and led
her through to the cleansing unit, passing her the cream to apply
to her burns. She was at least allowed some privacy for this, and
she supposed she ought to be thankful. Afterwards, she was again
forced to sit with him as he made a hearty breakfast. He never
mentioned Jaca, and she began to hope that her friend would be
spared. To that end, she set herself to further distracting him,
whiling away the meal in pleasant small talk and questions about
Earth.

The
Major appeared to miss it and yet be glad to be away from it—an
intriguing attitude she suspected was not unusual among the Terrans
on Hathe. She encouraged him to talk more about his home world,
mindful of why she had been sent here originally. Oddly enough in
the circumstance, she almost found herself relaxing as she
listened, even smiling at some of his tales, one so outrageous she
could do nothing but join him in laughter.

The
door opened right then. Hauled roughly in between two guards and
haggard after a night in the cells, Jaca caught her mid-laugh. She
gasped, and was answered with an accusing glare. She rose, glued to
the spot by the force holding her feet, stricken and beseeching him
to forget that damning chuckle. He ignored her plea. It wasn’t
surprising. She knew what he saw: her body highlighted by the
simple lines of her shift and her ease with the enemy. She couldn’t
blame him when he turned to gaze insolently forwards.

Beside
her, Radcliff had watched their unspoken signals. Deliberately
taunting, he released the force restraining her and put his arm
around her waist. Then he pulled her with him as he walked towards
his other prisoner, forcing her close to his side. She could only
guess what it looked like to Jaca.

“
Identification of prisoner, Sergeant.”

“
Answers to Jaca, sir, but we checked the old Hathian records
as you ordered. His full name is Jacquel des Trurain.” The guard
handed over the file. Radcliff scanned it then looked up, raising a
querying eyebrow at Marthe.