Resistance: Hathe Book One (13 page)

A
moment only, and the nightmare began. A touch, the brush of heat
against her legs. Not direct, not yet, but a faint crackling sound
sent her heart into overdrive. More footsteps, around and around
the chair, then that brush of heat, closer and closer. The smell of
singed floor covering. As if scorched by a living flame.

Surely
not, her mind screamed. No, barbaric. Witches and ancient
history.

One
sweep, the lightest scent of singed cloth, and she jerked on her
restraints, desperate to smother the burning cloth.

A rush
of cold water and she breathed a sigh of relief.

“
We
can stop now, if you will answer our questions. No flames, no pain.
Or you can be charred and burned, that beautiful body twisted and
blackened.”

Hamon’s voice, but mechanical, modulated through a speaker and
hiding whatever he felt.

Now
the footsteps again, and a tapping sound close by her ear, the
sound of fingers on a control pad. Ferdo was in control of the
torch, not Hamon, and her breathing fractured. A roar and the
crackle of flames, then the heat was back. He was brushing that
live flame near her feet, near her legs, higher and higher. Still
those foreign footsteps walked around and around, and on each pass,
the blast of heat came closer and closer. That smell again, charred
fabric, the smouldering of cloth. The bottom of her tunic, starting
to burn and the heat almost touching her bare legs.

“
Your allies? Who are your allies?”

“
The
flame, the flame,” she moaned in reply.

Then
it was gone. Gone the flames, the heat, only the smell lingered.
Through a mist of relief, she heard the harsh tones of her
nightmare.

“
We
have taken away the torch and smothered your burning tunic. The
torch will be returned if you refuse to cooperate. Who sent you and
why?”

Still
she held to her vow of silence. Only just, her heartbeat surely
audible to both Terrans.

“
You
wish further treatment?”

There
was a whoosh and the crackle of fire, then a brief bout of searing
pain, leaving her trembling and crumbling in terror.
Just do
it
she found herself wishing insanely, nerves stretched to
breaking point with each deadly circle of those hated
footsteps.

“
Once again, who sent you and why? What organization do you
work for? What really happened to the ruling group? Where is your
base?”

She
whimpered in fear, too scared to speak lest all resolution leave
her and she blabber on and on and on.

A
hideous pause followed. Two minutes, four, five.

“
God
damn you,” came an agonized voice from the blackness, just before
the blistering heat hit her, creeping higher and higher.

No!
Why me? I’m too young.

The
fire reached for her legs in a malevolent caress. Flames, crackling
into life and beginning to lick at her now, the heat searing. The
pain, the pain, starting, threatening, beating at the gateway to
the rest of her body.
Ice cold water, soothing balms, talk,
talk!

“
Father!” she screamed, suddenly unable to bear it. “Father,
Daddy. Daddy, Bendin. Help me, help. Stop it, make them stop
it!”

She
screamed, again and again. The heat, the painful, burning heat.
Then, gradually through the waves of terror she heard a blessedly
familiar voice, soothing and calming. And the heat, the cackling of
the wicked flames? Gone, all gone.

“
Mimi, little Mimi. Shush, little one. I’m here. Father is
here. We have contact again. You’re all right. The flame, it’s not
real. It’s only an illusion, a nerve simulation like in the
theatres. It can’t hurt you. You are whole, nothing has
happened.”

Slowly, hesitantly, the words began to penetrate the near
hysterical fog enveloping her.

“
It’s not real?” she whispered.

“
No,
little one, it’s not real. Come, remember your neurology. It’s a
simple illusion. They’re playing on your nerves as if on an
orchestra.”

She
listened avidly to the voice, the sound of calm and commonsense
from her childhood. The warmly reassuring words had been there when
her mother had died, and again, when the loss of Bendin had left
her so alone. And now, they were here again in her time of need.
Then the voice changed, became the Councilor’s voice, the voice of
authority giving her back courage and sanity.

“
Don’t speak. We’re feeding panic reactions through to their
instruments via your communicator. Unfortunately, we can’t get you
out of there yet. Too much is at stake to risk having Terrans
poking around in search of you, but we will get you out soon, I
promise, even if only for a short time. You will have to lose that
patch again, but we will do all we can to get another to you. In
your food perhaps?”

“
No,” in a soft hush.

“
Why
not? Do they search it? Tap for yes. Or, do you not get any? Her
fingernail’s gentle scratch confirmed her father’s dread. “Ah, my
poor Mimi. Your courage enhances the honor of this family more than
I can say.

There
was a period of silence, in which all her fears returned. Again she
whimpered.

“
I’m
still here,” came the steady, paternal voice, only a slight quaver
revealing his anguish. “We cannot hold this channel open any
longer. Your sister and the twins send their love and their
strength. Keep that chin up, remember you are asn Castre and that
in a few months, we will all be back home again.”

“
Jaca?” she whispered, her one big fear.

“
Still in prison. We dare not release him either, but at least
we are in contact and can block the worst of their brutalities. The
rest who were taken at the same time are also safe, all fifty, and
now have replacement patches. But I must go. We shall put you into
a faint, to make the brutes give up.”

Dimly
she tried to argue as the black waves advanced with the receding
voice. “Not brutes,” she mumbled then gave herself to the welcoming
depths, remembering only to let the patch slip back onto the floor
near the bench to be found later. She was vaguely aware of rough
hands dragging her out of the force, slapping her face and clinging
to her shoulders.

“
Ferdo, help me. God help me if she dies!”

“
Calm down, Hamon. It was only an illusion. She’s merely
fainted and is in shock.” Ferdo shook his wrist, wincing at the
twinges in it. He’d had to fight to hold Hamon back from yanking
the girl out of the field when she started screaming, but nothing
could keep Radcliff from her when she fainted. Ferdo reckoned he’d
bruised all the tendons in his arm trying to stop him. Then he
looked at his friend again and sighed in resignation. “I’m calling
the medics in here immediately, for both of you. You’re as white as
a ghost. Not that I blame you. Don’t ever ask me to do such a
horrifying thing again.”

The
face that turned towards him made Ferdo want to bite the words
back; but his words of apology were as to a deaf man. These cursed
natives! They broke every rule in the book. How were they to know
she would fall into an hysterical trance?

“
Thank the stars,” Ferdo said at last, turning in relief as
the medical team arrived.

“
What happened?”

“
A
prisoner under neuroillusion has gone into shock. You’d better
check the interrogating officer as well.”

Briskly, the chief medic set to work, checking the most
obviously affected first, the Major. He barely acknowledged them,
retaining his tight grip on the unconscious body of the Hathian
girl.

“
Come, Major, she’ll be all right. Let me read your vital
signs.” The woman held her recorder over his chest and groin then
infused a sedative before he knew what she was doing, sending him
into a gentle sleep. “To the wards, and keep a close eye on
him.”

Turning now to the Hathian girl, she gave her a cursory
examination then stood up.

“
Well?” Ferdo asked, “aren’t you going to do anything for her?
She may be just a native, but she is also an important prisoner and
the stars help you if anything happens to her.”

“
No
need. She’s only sleeping. Better get her back to her cell, then
leave her alone; she’ll be fine in the morning.” With which terse
assessment the woman made ready to leave, signaling the porters to
lift the unconscious Radcliff and transfer him to the
stretcher.

“
But
she can’t be. Not after neuroillusion,” gasped Ferdo.

“
Oh,
it’s a common enough reaction. I don’t know why the Colonel still
insists on giving prisoners a session. These Hathians may be human,
but something seems to have been lost from their nervous systems in
the generations they’ve been here.” She looked at the technician’s
pale face, told him he looked as if he needed a stiff drink, then
was gone.

Not
even the guard, entering soon after to remove the still shape of
the girl from the floor, could disturb a stunned Ferdo. It was a
long time he stayed there, not moving at all, staring with grim
memories at the seat to which the Hathian woman had been
fixed.

CHAPTER SEVEN

“
Madame asn Castre, breakfast is served.”

The
delightful words, in her own tongue, seeped through the murky
layers of Marthe’s nightmare. Gradually she woke, barely noticing
the grim walls surrounding her for the heavenly sight of Agnethe
holding the biggest tray of food Marthe had ever seen.

“
Food,” she breathed, sitting up in a rush and grabbing at the
dishes.

“
Now, now, not so fast.”

And as
if to punish her, the dizzy waves reached up to seize hold
again.

“
There, there. Those brutes were none too gentle, were they?
Sit back and let me help you. And don’t bolt the food. Your poor
stomach won’t stand for such treatment.”

Marthe
was beyond caring. She reached out greedily and between mouthfuls
managed to gasp: “Where? I haven’t seen food like this since … oh,
since before the fall. It’s real!” And she started laughing, crying
and choking on a full mouth, all in one.

“
Old
Agnethe still has her stores. I used to be housekeeper for your
great-uncle Kastoff. Now there was a man who appreciated his food.
None of this synthetic rubbish for him. And you can’t possibly eat
two whole brovins in one mouthful. The second one won’t go away
while you eat the first.”

Marthe
barely heard her, completing the impossible and reaching for
more.

“
No,
that’s quite enough for now. It’s not wise to gorge on an empty
stomach. Don’t worry, I’ll bring more soon, and here is a new com
patch for you along with a set of proper Hathian robes. Not as
elegant as that slip of a thing you’re wearing, but it covers a
sight more of you. Don’t worry about the switch of clothes. We’ve
doctored the surveillance vids to make the Terrans think a guard
gave them to you. ”

Marthe
took it all with a shaky smile. “Thank you, Agnethe, for
everything. This cell looks … so good. To be able to speak Harmish
freely again!”

She
could hold back the tears no longer. Agnethe shushed her kindly,
patting her hand. “Relax, you’re safe now. That nasty Major is in
hospital, and likely to remain so for a while. Suffering from
shock, they say. In the meantime, no one is likely to worry about
you. With any luck, we can sneak you out for a couple of day’s
furlough. Someone else can substitute for you;
they
will
never know the difference.” Her backwards nod to the door spoke
volumes. “Now, I must leave before one of those pesky guards comes
along and wonders how I managed to get past their precious
monitors.” With which she bustled out, taking with her the telltale
tray and the despised elegance of Marthe’s Terran
clothing.

Left
on her own, Marthe shrugged on the rest of the enveloping native
robes, then lay back and sighed in contentment. How good to feel
again the slick promise of a wrist patch and the comforting
roughness of the peasant clothing, with its promise of safety in
the concealing bulk. She was still in prison, granted, but the
Terran systems were easily foiled in this part of the Citadel.
Unlike that other part. She shuddered, remembering the isolation of
the Major’s beautiful apartment. Here, she could forget the
confusion that had beset her there: the unwelcome pity she had felt
for the Terrans and that unwanted spark that had flared between her
and Hamon Radcliff. That she dared not remember. Best of all, she
now knew that Jaca and the other captives were alive. The last of
her burdens was gone.

She
settled onto the hard bench, her stomach blessedly full. Free at
last from the pernicious drag of the force field and able to close
her eyes in peace, it was but an instant before the gift of sleep
claimed her again.

Her
next awakening was to the familiar clamor of Terrans shouting
orders.

“
Stand to for inspection.”

Normal
and wonderfully anonymous. Terrans bullying Hathians. That evening,
she slept again—until the early hours of the morning, when a signal
from her patch brought her rest to an abrupt end with a warning of
an incoming message. She listened and did as ordered, opening the
now unlocked cell door and moving down the passage to await her
promised escort. She was on furlough already, it seemed.