Resistance: Hathe Book One (39 page)

“
It
was nothing important. I merely wished to ask Major Radcliff when
he will be home tonight. I’ll call him at his own office
later.”

“
The
Major will be here all day. I will tell him of your request, Madame
an Castre.”

The
screen went blank.

Bendin’s foulest expletive exploded from her. How could she
have overlooked the most obvious source of danger? She hastily
blocked the Terran surveillance vids in her room and contacted
Central with her fears. To no avail. Everyone was busy with last
minute checks. Eventually, she managed to get through to Jaca, but
he, too, was fully occupied with getting ready for the final
assault on the Citadel and had no time to talk. He did hear her
out, sparing her a half-distracted moment.

“
What can they do at this late stage?”
was his harried
response.

“
Make the whole thing a lot bloodier than necessary, that’s
what!”

“
Only if they manage to discover anything, which is
unlikely. Earth doesn’t have the expertise.”
There was a
distinct lack of sympathy in his tone.
“Radcliff’s your ball
game. If you suspect a problem, deal with it. The rest of us have
enough to do already.”

He
broke off, leaving her staring into space and biting her lips.
Carefully, she ticked off the contents of her concealed body pouch.
Most particularly, the blaster hidden there. Her practice shots
left a gaping hole in the bedroom wall, impossible to explain if
Hamon should find it, but it was reassuring to find her accuracy as
sharp as ever.

She
toyed with lunch, scarcely tasting the nourishing fare she forced
herself to swallow, and was very pleased to see Hamon enter soon
afterwards, forgetting for a moment the damage to the bedroom.
Luckily he was in haste. Then she saw the grim cast of his
face.

“
I
hope you’ve finished eating. Your presence is required
elsewhere.”

“
Hamon, it’s midday. Whatever would people say,” she replied
coquettishly, deliberately misreading his words. He didn’t answer,
seizing her by the arm and leading her out of the room.

“
Please, you’re hurting me.” She tried pulling away from his
harsh grip.

“
Sorry.” The tone was curt, but his hand relaxed a
fraction—though not enough to let her escape.

She
let a brush stroke of fear enter her voice. “Whatever’s going
on?”

“
Nothing will happen to you, I promise. No matter what.” There
was a desperate hollowness to his words; and while she felt
excitement in him, she also sensed anger. At what, she couldn’t
guess, unless it was her pathetic delaying tactics. She forced her
body to subside, appearing to acquiesce. Yet every nerve and muscle
was taut, ready, as so often in the past, for whatever might be
needed.

They
soon arrived at their destination—the communications wing. There
was no surprise in her. The guard appeared to expect them, waving
them through to Ferdo’s inner sanctum: the Terran central
communications control room. Lights, screens and banks of equipment
covered the walls in a threatening array. In the far corner sat the
duty technician, constantly monitoring a myriad of
channels.

The
only other occupant was Ferdo, listening intently to a crackling,
distorted fragment of sound coming from a nearby speaker. Beside
him, an energy cone had been set up and beneath it, she saw, lay
one of the old patches. That crackle of sound told her they’d found
nothing dangerous yet. Despite that, her internal alarm was on high
alert and there was no relaxation within her. She cleared her mind,
setting aside the personal and letting the familiar, icy logic of
her training take over.

Ferdo’s head turned as they entered, his face glowing with
anticipation. “Hamon, you’re back, and with Marthe.
Good.”

“
Nice to see you, Ferdo. Now, by all the Pillars what are you
two so eager to show me?” she said.

Hamon
tensed up, as surprised as Ferdo looked at Marthe’s apparent
willingness to cooperate. It was too abrupt a change from her
earlier fear. But Marthe was not Terran, and right now that was
what he must remember. The survival of all those millions on Earth
must come first, whatever it cost him. The cost to her he dared not
consider. Not if he was to do his duty here. She would be safe and
physically unharmed; that was all he had the right to promise, and
he grimly checked the room for possible escape routes. Hamon would
have sworn her earlier fear had been real and, since entering,
she’d never once turned her back on any of them. Not even on the
harmless technician at the far side of the room.

Ferdo
put down his probe and took a step forward. “Marthe, thank you for
coming. If you would just take this seat and stretch your wrist out
here, we can begin?”

“
Begin what?”

“
A
little experiment,” said Hamon in a tone that brooked no
argument.

“
It’s that unusual patch you once wore,” explained Ferdo
enthusiastically. “I feel sure the key to it is bringing it in
contact with the owner. We’re going to return the patch to your
wrist, then cover the whole with a cone. Hopefully we can then make
some sense of these noises we’re picking up. The Colonel will have
to listen to us then.”

“
What arrant nonsense!” Marthe snatched her hand away. By the
Pillars! This was more than she’d bargained for. Hamon caught hold
of her wrist again and returned it firmly to the table. Coldly, he
called Ferdo’s duty officer over.

“
Technician, as the Colonel has seen fit to limit our use of
force field generators,” he said, a grim cast to his face, “you
will restrain this lady and prevent her from moving.”

The
next minute, Marthe found herself pinned tightly, her right hand
firmly held behind her back. If she even tried to struggle, the man
would surely break her arm. Her other hand was pulled onto the
bench, palm up. She glared at Hamon, daring him wordlessly to
explain. He merely stepped back, hiding whatever he felt behind the
implacable barrier of his set face.

The
technician who held her was too well trained and too strong.
Despite all she attempted, her wrist was brought relentlessly under
the cone and the patch placed against her skin. Please, God, let it
not be activated.

Ferdo
hunched anxiously over his toys, but for all his furious twiddling,
the crackling cacophony was unchanged.

“
Maybe if we enlarge the field of reception to take in the
whole body,” he said. The cone tilted towards her as his finger
played on the controls. Still the crackling. His fingers moved
viciously, then stopped, frustrated.

Hamon
stared at Marthe, thinking hard. A memory jarred at the edge of
consciousness, some niggling habit of hers. They had to be close.
She was too unhappy with their activities, despite her innocent
veneer.

“
Of
course, “he exclaimed suddenly. Taking over with a hold as strong
as the technician’s, he grabbed her other hand, bringing it
inexorably forward.

“
What do you think you’re doing,” Marthe demanded, but knew
too well. Try as she might to avoid it, her hand was brought round
and the fingers pressed firmly against the patch. So tight was his
grip that she couldn’t move her fingers, couldn’t warn her people
with the alarm code. The patch was fully active and the Hathians
had no idea of it. Horror engulfed her.

“
I
think it’s activated by finger contact,” she now heard Hamon say to
Ferdo. “I’ve often seen Marthe tapping her arms in the past, or
more recently, tugging her ear.” And despite her outraged gasp, he
pushed her hair aside to pull back her earlobe. “Nothing there,”
she was relieved to hear him say, as his fingers brushed across her
improved patch, snugly sitting in the ear crease. “Try it again,
Ferdo.”

Tensely, Marthe watched the Captain. Again, a babble of sound
broke through, but this time, they were undeniably human sounds.
Ferdo flashed a triumphant grin. Again, he adjusted his controls.
The babble broke up, separating into its parts. Until only one
damning voice spoke. The accent was the same as her own, the
language, Harmish.

“
Section nine reporting. All units set and ready to
move.”

“
Central receiving, section nine. Confirm all go to move at
third pillar. Mark Zenith start at 19.00 hours, sun at one degree
below horizon.”

Marthe
heard the words in dread. Hamon still held her, even as he
translated excitedly to Ferdo.

“
That’s it. Our proof!” Ferdo shouted exultantly.

Hamon
grinned back in triumph. After all this time. He hurriedly reviewed
the Hathian calendar and the difference between Hathian and Terran
standard hours. “That’s for tonight!”

Releasing Marthe, he strode across to the nearest vid. “I’ll
let the Commander know immediately. He has to turn the guard out
now. We’ve won, Ferdo!”

As his
hand reached for the call pad, a blinding pain slashed through his
arm. Gasping, he swung back. Marthe’s hand was stretched out in
front of her and she stood eerily still, legs apart and braced. In
her hand was a strange blaster. It was aimed directly at his
heart.

One
agonizing beat, and hope ended.

“
I
wouldn’t make that call,” said his beloved.

“
Or?”

“
A
repeat of the last pain,”

“
I
can bear it,” he warned,

“
Then Ferdo’s death or damage to you.”

He
believed her. Her stance was too real, had too much the mark of a
trained professional. She had used a low blaster setting on him but
he’d seen before how swiftly she could change it. She had already
moved to bring both Ferdo and the technician within range and, for
the present, it seemed he must play along, waiting all the while
for his own split-second chance, and must forget that it was Marthe
at the end of that blaster—an agonizing blow he would deal with
later. All he must see now was his Hathian enemy. He forced himself
into battle mode.

Conceding with a shrug, he moved away from the wall and
towards her. Sudden, killing heat seared a line a hair’s breadth in
front of his foot.

“
No
closer,” she threatened. He saw the concrete cast of her face, the
poised shoulder, the practiced finger upon the blaster.

“
You
should watch where you point that thing.”

“
I
know what I’m doing.”

It
wasn’t a boast. He remembered that scene on the balcony facing the
angry crowd of Hathian peasants and moved back, ever aware of her
eyes watching, then saw her free hand go up to tug at her ear. That
old, not so innocent habit.

Marthe
saw the recognition in his eyes as she tapped out the alarm signal,
eyes which constantly raked her for any sign of
weakness.

“
Report,”
came the voice of Central in her head.
Quickly, she explained the situation. The silence as she waited for
a reply seemed endless.

“
The room is sealed and a temporary recording in
progress.”
It was the cultured voice of deln Crantz.

“
And
the technician function?”

“
We will send a replacement. It’s imperative that you keep
the Terrans inside that room. They must not be allowed to reveal
what they know until the assault has begun. Estimate one thousand
casualties if you fail.”
Her commander signed out, no reply
needed.

She
looked at her husband. No, her foe. That was what she must see now.
Her enemies—the Terrans she had to keep confined here—and she noted
the fear in the faces of Ferdo and the technician as they watched
her.

It
wasn’t surprising. She was still using the resistance code to
communicate with Central—a mix of words and taps on her ear patch.
All they would hear was the odd word spoken. Unimportant,
meaningless phrases, easily woven into a covering conversation, to
add to the tiny movements of her fingers on the skin behind her
ear—the secret language that had surrounded the unknowing
Terrans.

On
Hamon’s face there was no fear, only jaded
comprehension.

A
glacial answering image to her own posture, he’d chosen to prop
himself against the far wall, legs insolently crossed in languid
carelessness.

“
You
may try the vid,” she said to him,” though it will be of no use to
you. This room is now sealed.”

“
Within five minutes, someone will miss the controlling
technician and realize something is wrong.”

“
We
have temporary control of that function until a replacement of our
own arrives,” she returned.

“
You
don’t mind if I try anyway?”

Hamon
didn’t wait for her nod to move over to the panel, but he moved
slowly enough not to spook her, ever conscious of her weapon. Even
before he pressed the button, he knew there would be no response.
He turned to shrug at Ferdo at the very moment the duty technician
panicked and broke for the door. Quicker than he would have thought
possible, that deadly weapon swung about, spat out a missile, and
the technician slumped to the floor.