Resistance: Hathe Book One (15 page)

“
And
I will do my best to help you; but first, you must greet our
guest—another returning hero.”

Turning, Marthe found herself face to face with one who, deep
down, she had thought never to see again.

“
Jaca.” Slow, silent tears touched her cheeks. “Jaca, I’m so
sorry. I had to.” She could say no more. He was alive, praise
Mathe, this man she had condemned to death. Silently, she stared at
him and the half-open, cautious smile on his face. But she soon had
to glance away, seeing what he could not hide from her; the
questions and the accusations.

“
Are
you on furlough as well, or did they release you?” she said,
retreating to the safety of the polite query.

“
Furlough.” Now she could also read ridicule there. “Your
Major’s illness gave us both a reprieve. My substitute must have
the privilege of the guards’ kind attentions for a few
days.

“
I
didn’t know you were so closely watched.”

“
You’re not the only Haut Liege under Radcliff’s care. I even
receive the occasional, personal visit. To discuss the weather, the
arts, politics. Quite … gentlemanly.”

“
His
father is the Alliance Representative!” It was out before she knew
it. She stopped abruptly, lost for words to mend what she had
said.

She
could see her father’s confusion, but could do nothing about it.
There was too much between Jaca and her, and both had learned in
the same, hard school to keep their secrets. The awkward silence
was finally broken by her father.

“
Plenty of time to catch up on gossip later. Jacquel, if you
would kindly take Marthe through, we will follow
behind.”

Politely nodding assent, Jaca rose, offering his arm to Marthe
then walking with a marked limp towards the dining hall.

“
Your leg? What happened?” she exclaimed.

“
Your dear friend, the Major. We don’t get on particularly,”
was the unpromising reply.

“
Has
it been treated? You must let me look at it after
dinner.”

“
No,” he said gruffly. “I’ve had excellent care since I
arrived back, thank you.” He would say no more, carefully handing
her to her seat with punctilious courtesy. She was saved by her
father from having to reply. He raised his glass.

“
I
believe a toast is in order. To us.” He lifted his glass and gave
that quiet smile of his that always spelled safety to Marthe and an
end to dissent. “May the food be excellent and the wine purest
ambrosia.”

“
What better toast could there be?” seconded Jorven,
chuckling. “Knowing your table, I doubt not that it will be
granted.”

He was
proved right. Course after fascinating course appeared: kafka from
Aeros, ciukh from Delion and, best of all, genuine bortch rescued
from Hathe – with jerbel berries!

Her
stomach already stretched beyond its limit, Marthe could only gaze
in wonder. “Real bortch,” she breathed.

“
Mmm, better than gruel, eh?” grinned Jaca, finally showing
signs of relaxing.

“
Gruel nothing! Do you realize this is only my second meal for
days? Hamon Radcliff’s so-called admiration did not extend to
feeding prisoners.”

“
But
I thought… You were at breakfast when I was brought in.”

“
Radcliff was at breakfast. I was kindly given a glass of
water.”

Behind
his still closed face, she saw she had shocked him. “I think that
you and I need to talk.” he said. “But later. For now, bortch and
jerbels.”

“
Mmm,” she agreed holding out her plate for a huge
helping.

“
Marthe, you can’t possibly eat all that,” laughed Laren, “and
don’t touch the jerbels. Remember what happened the last time you
ate them.”

“
As
if I could forget. I was so ill I couldn’t move for
days.”

“
When was that?” said her father. “I never knew you were
allergic to them.”

“
You
were away at an Alliance meeting. I was fine by the time you got
home. You were there, Jaca. The four of us had raided Dufon’s
orchard, and your father came out breathing fire and thunder,
Jorven.”

“
That’s right,” recalled Jaca, laughing even. “It’s no wonder
you were ill. You ate masses of the things and half of them weren’t
even ripe.”

“
No
more than we ate, though,” said Laren with a chuckle. “As for
Bendin, he must have eaten more than all of us put together. With,
as usual, no effect at all. That boy led a charmed
life.”

“
I
don’t wish to hear any more,” exclaimed their father. “Like so many
of your past escapades, it seems best left alone. Instead, tell me
about the gossip planetside? I hear you rendezvoused with your
cousin Griffith, though I daresay that young man refused to bother
with such trivialities as family pleasantries.”

“
No,” grimaced Marthe. “Only that cousin Addie had ‘presented
him with a young crusader’. Which I take to mean that Addie’s
finally had the baby.”

“
About two weeks late. Goodness, I thought she would never
have it,” Laren laughed. “Mind you, she didn’t carry well, I
hear.”

“
Oh,
I know, do I ever know. Along with any other poor unfortunate who
happened to come within shouting distance. Why Griffith let her
stay planetside, I have no idea.” said Marthe in disgust. “It
wasn’t as if there was anything really wrong with her. Just
prolonged nausea and tiredness. Plenty of women suffer
that.”

“
Behold the sympathetic physician,” teased Jorven. “God
protect us when you are let loose again on an unsuspecting
world.”

“
As
soon as I am, I promise you will be my first patient,” she
threatened back.

Her
father smiled, amused. “That day is not too far off. Setting up
refresher courses for professionals is one of the Council’s first
priorities, after we rid ourselves of these Terrans. I have already
booked you a place. You’ll be back in practice in no
time.”

“
Not
straight away, thank you Father. I’ll need a holiday before I
tackle something like that. You’ve no idea how much I’ve forgotten
these last years, even with all the field work that’s come my way.”
She grimaced, thinking of the tasks ahead, but then thrust them
away, indulging instead in the pleasure of family
gossip.

Later
that night, she stood gazing out the library window in quiet
contemplation of the lunar landscape, escaping for a few moments’
peace. A noise made her spin round. It was Jacquel, poking his head
through the doorway.

“
Mind if I come in?”

She
shook her head, motioning him forward to a pair of seats ideally
placed to view the lunar scene below. The light from the window
cast gaunt shadows across his face, sharpening the usually merry
contours into harsh crags, and his voice when he spoke held no
trace of easy banter. She sat in the other, and waited. She could
guess why he was here. He soon confirmed it.

“
The
Terrans have told me one story. I would like your
version.”

She
nodded, her mouth dry. Her one-time friend was sitting in judgement
before her. Only the truth would do, so she told him of her
imprisonment, hiding nothing yet revealing little beyond the plain,
unemotional facts. Grimly she told of Radcliff’s
ultimatum.

“
Your death, or my confession. I ordered your
death.”

“
Oh?”

“
Plus two others.”

She
sat still, neither defending nor attacking herself.

Jacquel leaned back, resting his chin thoughtfully in his
hands. Their enduring strength belied the usually reckless air of
the man. “You had to do it, for the sake of the cause,” he said
with an icy logic.

“
It
was the only choice possible,” she agreed. “Were you
told?”

“
Oh
yes, he told me. In vivid detail.” Bitterness scored deeply into
the shadows surrounding him.

“
Major Radcliff?”

“
I
received a visit from your amiable protector not long
after.”

Marthe
was quelled by the hate edging his voice. “You don’t seem to
approve of our mutual captor. I take it that his methods were not
overly gentle. I would like to know the truth; he did not kill you,
remember.”

“
Of
course he didn’t. As a Haut Liege, I am for too valuable, even if I
do not possess your beauty.”

“
Beauty nothing. There is more than one kind of torture; the
subtlest can be the worst,” she snapped, guilt churning her
guts.

“
Oh
yes. No food, no sleep, but at least you were clean, lay in a
proper bed at night. And how intensive was your interrogation—every
waking hour of the day with those ghouls of hell they call
soldiers?”

“
I
had one session.”

“
One?” he jeered, throwing himself up from the chair and
pacing angrily back and forth. The very air seemed spattered with
his rage, spewing forth into the shadows of the room as he strode
in front of her. Suddenly he turned, paused in mid-step, his face
of agony upon her.

“
Why?”

The
word hung there, splitting to shreds the defensive anger she had so
gladly thrown up.

“
I
don’t remember a time when you and Bendin weren’t my closest
friends,” he went on. “When Bendin died, it hurt me almost as much
as it hurt you. I’ve trusted you with my life more times than I
care to remember these last years, and vice versa. Then you just
say ‘No’ and I’m gone? That’s it?”

“
I
had to,” was all she could whisper.

“
Had
to? Of course you
had to
. All those men who would have died.
But did you
have to
so easily? You didn’t even ask for a
day’s grace to consider.”

“
There wasn’t one on offer,” she replied in a voice as still
as his was turbulent. “Major Radcliff is driven by a desperation
almost greater than our own. He thinks his world is
dying.”

“
So
now you favor his cause. Take care. You soon won’t have to worry
about killing your friends. It will all spill out so
easily.”

Marthe
shot up at that. “Jaca, stop it. Don’t do this. I doubt if you can
believe me, but the moment I thought you dead was the worst of my
life, whatever our mutual enemy may claim. Worse even than losing
Bendin, because I didn’t cause that. I won’t ask your forgiveness
for my decision. You would’ve been forced to do the same if you
were me. But I tell you, it wasn’t lightly made or easy to live
with.” She smiled jaggedly. “In less than a day’s time we both
return to captivity. Let’s not bear this burden as well.” She began
to raise her hand in supplication, then recognized the effrontery
and let it drop.

Jaca
didn’t move, standing as one trapped, his chest heaving and pain
scoring his face. She waited, knowing if she failed here, it would
be one loss too many. She didn’t know if she could face the coming
ordeal without his support.

For a
long time, it looked like she would have to. Jaca stood silent, in
judgment, his clear blue eyes studying her and his face closed and
rigid. Then, slowly, ever so slowly, the stiff shoulders eased, and
fell, and the ghost of a smile flitted across the twisted mouth. He
had made his decision. “You’re right, Mimi, as ever. My hand.” and
he cautiously stretched out one, pale palm.

The
relief of it flooded her. “A pact on it,” she agreed eagerly,
grasping his hand with pleasure.

“
Yes, a pact on it.”

CHAPTER EIGHT

That
brief smile was all he gave her of warmth. The barest hint, but
there was yet a promise in it and, for a moment only, he made her a
party to his pain, the trace of warmth disappearing and his face
open and exposed. He let her see all the grief of the days to come
and a pledge that he would stand by her as they stepped through
them together.

Then
he gave a small shake and the old Jaca, the bright image of her
youth, settled as a mask over his inner torment. She had no choice
but to go along with the masquerade. She was the betrayer here, and
when he spoke again it was as if the last moments had never been.
They had known each other so long that the familiar habits of
friendship fell easily into place, but Marthe knew the private soul
behind the bravura and that nothing was the same.

“
We
ought to discuss our strategy,” he said brightly, once more the
fellow conspirator. “Decide what tale we shall string the Terrans.
Two such tried and true troupers as we are must be able to come up
with something special.” He paced before her again, his
considerable dramatic talents to the fore as he illuminated his
words with vivid movements of arm and body. “Shall we be the
revolutionary philosophers of our tribe, preferring to share in the
peasants’ poverty to a luxurious exile? Or did we run away, or were
cast out for our flagrant contempt of their outdated mores. I would
rather like to go down in history as a rogue, a lecher of young,
innocent daughters and not so young or innocent spouses. What say
you, Mimi? Can you see me as the disgraced ravisher?” And he flung
his hand high before flourishing low in a sweeping, courtly
bow.