“Surely they’re not openly ordering them about in front of us?”
“No, nothing so obvious.”
They all smiled with him, aware as no other Terrans of the almost continuous web of native communication surrounding them, so subtle in kind that even these keen watchers had yet scratched no more than the surface. “Little things. One of the younger workers in the mines will start to bring up his head in response to an overseer’s orders, then will stop and out of the corner of your eye you catch sight of a passing elder. And the younger ones no longer work in peer groups. There’s always a senior with them.”
“Do they ever speak much?” Jones put in, to be interrupted by a contemptuous snort from Markham.
“Quite,” said Hamon coldly. “Whatever the mode of communication, I’d have thought you would have realized by now, Jones, that speech is but a minor aspect.”
Jones subsided judiciously. Hamon couldn’t afford stupidity in his men, and they knew it.
“Have any of you noticed that the natives seem to be becoming less tolerant of our agents?” dropped Hector into the silence.
This was news to Hamon. “In what way?”
“All my agents are reporting it. In the past, even though we knew they hadn’t succeeded in passing themselves off as Hathians, the natives did at least put up with them.”
“What’s changed?” asked Jones.
“Nothing too obvious, but the natives arrange it so that our agents are given the poorest food and cop the toughest jobs. We’re having to pull them in after only a few weeks for recuperation.”
“When did this start?”
“About three or four months ago,” said Hector.
“About the time of the riot?” Those angry scenes on his wedding day, aborted so assuredly by the two Hathians; a subject his men knew not to mention to him. Whether that was a good thing in his staff, he refused to consider. He would not talk directly to his men about his wife. Not now, not ever.
“That would be correct, sir.” replied Hector carefully now.
“The same time as the younger peasants started these petty civil disturbances,” said Hamon. “These annoying incidents that have managed to keep the Commander’s guards fully occupied in patrolling the streets. Though at least they’ve forced him to bring in manned night patrols. Relying on surveillance vids alone is asking for trouble in the present climate.” His fingers drummed pensively on the desk as he stared into the distance. Then he suddenly turned back, his decision made. “Jones, I want you to keep our own troops free, no matter what orders you get from above.”
“And what will I tell the Commander, sir?”
“Leave that to me,” Hamon said with a grim smile, “and always ensure you have one cohort on full alert. To respond to my signal only. Any other thoughts on what we face and when? I want your gut feeling, not a carefully analyzed assessment.”
“No idea of what, sir, but it’ll be soon. A matter of weeks at most. My agents tell me you can almost smell the tension in the natives,” said the astute Hector.
“Still no cracks in their armor?”
“Not a thing. The stars know what these people are made of, but I admit I’m coming to favor your idea of a huge hoax, incredible as it may seem.”
“And you others?”
“It’s impossible, surely,” denied Jones.
“I’m not so sure,” countered a worried Markham.
“I know what you mean. There are too many coincidences. And this peasant population is too subtle for so-called ignorant yokels,” said Hawarth.
“My point exactly,” said Hamon. “Now, does anyone know how I can put all this to the Commander? And make him believe me?”
Their black smiles were all the answer he needed.
He carried the memory with him as, yet again, he sought an interview with Colonel Johne. Maybe this time he could persuade the man that the risk was real, not part of some grandiose plan of his own to supplant him, as Johne had claimed the last time they’d argued. The stars above knew he already had almost as much power around this place as any one man needed!
Though not quite, he conceded ruefully after a few, short minutes in the Commander’s office. That dim-witted, self-seeking specimen alone could provide the official sanction Hamon needed to make the complacent Terrans face up to the reality of the threat facing them.
The Colonel merely looked down his thick, red nose at his junior officer—rejoicing yet again, Hamon knew, in his petty superiority over a member of a family as powerful as Hamon’s rather than listening to his arguments. Johne had fallen into the patronizing tone he reserved for their private talks.
“You claim, Major, that these backward illiterates are mounting a full-scale, secret resistance force to overthrow us, yet you have not one verifiable piece of evidence that they possess the scale of technology needed for such an attack.”
“Only my wife’s words regarding the degree of advancement of her people over ours.”
“So your partner likes to think herself your equal. After a few years with a woman, you’ll learn to disregard such quirks. They will have their little games!”
“Sir, our own communications unit confirms that her father was a leading scientist of the Alliance. Surely that would make her well placed to know what she’s talking about.” Despite the plea in his words, Hamon couldn’t bring himself to allow any hint of supplication in his voice. He was far too angry.
“Dr an Castre. Yes, I’ve heard of him. A thoroughly slippery customer, our envoys tell me, and likely the daughter is as bad. I know she bears your first child with all that entails, but a healthy degree of reserve never goes amiss in a relationship.”
The Colonel eyed him with what Hamon supposed was a kindly warning. He could feel his anger rising, but dared not give way to it; too important was the outcome of this meeting. His silence was misread.
“Glad to see you agree. She’s a pretty little thing, I grant you, but best not to let her intrude beyond the bedroom door. I sometimes think your previous arrangements were preferable; at least they gave you a more rounded view of things.”
“Perhaps, sir, but not in as much depth. My wife is fully as discreet as her compatriots, but she does slip up occasionally. Some of what she says gives me cause for serious concern.”
“Hah. There we do agree. Your words give me cause for serious concern, Major. Concern for your fitness to do your duty. Has it occurred to you that the lady may be acting on her own, single-handedly using you to disrupt our entire organization? I am not totally unaware of your meddling.” The Colonel’s voice was now as cold as Hamon’s.
Radcliff stiffened and glared back. “Not single-handed, surely. You forget des Trurain.”
“By the stars, Radcliff, you must be suffering battle fatigue. That lightweight gigolo hasn’t a serious thought in his head; and his antics do help to raise staff morale, unlike your gloomy whisperings.”
“What about the reports, sir? All of my staff agree with me. Something’s building.”
“Because you’ve infected them with your own pessimism. Your reports are nothing but vague opinions. Bring me concrete proof of a threat, then I might consider action.”
“That’s your final word on the subject, sir?”
“Yes, Major, it is.”
“Then, if you will excuse me, I have work to do.”
“Certainly. And I warn you, Major, I do not want to hear of any more morale damaging rumors floating about the place.”
Hamon could only nod. He made it through the door without further adding to Johne’s triumph, but only just. He held on to his self-control by the merest thread, but once safely back with his own officers, he couldn’t keep his failure from them. All they had to do was look at his face. He slammed his fist against the desk.
“Proof! Concrete proof, he says.”
“The reports?”
“‘Vague opinions’, were his exact words. What does the man want, a full scale revolution?”
“Perhaps. I
n the meantime, would an example of advanced Hathian technology help?”
Hamon whirled round to see Ferdo grinning at him from the doorway. “What exactly do you mean?”
“I’ve got it. Proof. Remember those patches of unknown material we found on Marthe and the others? The so-called wound dressings?”
“Yes.
“We’ve managed to pick up a type of transmission from Marthe’s one. Nothing we can make sense of yet, and only on a couple of occasions.”
“You think you’ve hit on something?” Hope chased through him.
“You bet.” Ferdo’s head was almost swelling with excitement as he stood there as cocky as all hell. “We’ve found their communicator. Those innocuous scraps of material are a sight more than they appear. Hopefully, in a few days we’ll figure out how to make them work.”
“Can you keep on it full time?” was all Hamon wanted to know.
“Not quite. The Colonel won’t let us drop our other stuff.”
“Leave that to me. You’ve got a horde of technicians to take over routine jobs. You just concentrate on that gadget.”
“With pleasure. Mind you, if they are as sophisticated as I suspect, they could still stump us.”
“Not a bit of it. We all have the greatest faith in you. Don’t we, gentlemen?” There was a hearty chorus of assent.
Hamon sat, grinning, for almost a full minute. Beaming at one and all and not caring how uneasy he made his men with his display of benevolence.
“Back to work, everybody,” he finally said. “As for me, I think I’ll join my wife’s step-cousin for the evening. This news deserves a celebration, and the kind of indulgences he favors should fit the bill nicely. And don’t tell me it’s too early to party, Ferdo, because for once I don’t care.”
All Marthe knew of his doings that night was that he was late home and that he was happier than she’d seen him for some time. And drunker. He was still enough of both when he woke up to make for a more enjoyable morning than they’d had in some time. Not long after he left for work, she found out why.
“What’s that husband of yours up to?” Jaca burst out with as soon as he barged into her room.
She frowned a curt warning at him, hurriedly signaling Central to block the surveillance on her quarters. As soon as it was safe, she blasted Jaca.
“What are you thinking of, coming in here like that and forgetting the most basic of precautions? For all you knew, Hamon might still be here.”
Jacquel halted, his face blanching.
“As it happens, he left five minutes ago. Your luck held this time. What’s he done that’s so dreadful it makes you behave like a complete novice? Apart from setting the place stirring like a madhouse and earning me a severe reprimand from Central.”
“He was pleasant to me!”
Marthe stared, then collapsed in a pile of strained hysterics onto the nearest cube. Long moments later, despite the occasional hiccup of glee, she managed to ask him what was so bad about that.
“That man … pleasant … to me? A man he regards as only one step removed from the devil incarnate. In fact, he was jovial, as if celebrating. Just what has he discovered?”
“You’re serious!”
“Yes, I am,” said an emphatic Jacquel, “so stop giggling like a silly teenager and help me figure it out. Have you noticed any change in Radcliff this morning?”
She smiled quietly, then seeing its effect on Jacquel quickly wiped it away. “What exactly happened last night?” she asked instead.
“It started out fairly normally. A convivial evening with a few friends...”
“A bawdy, licentious evening with a group of tearaways?”
He grinned shamelessly. “Something like that. I’d just managed to get my new best mates into a state where they no longer noticed I wasn’t matching their drinks. They’d relaxed nicely—”
“The ladies were becoming conformable?”
“Stop interrupting. These sessions are very useful, as you well know. As it happened, it was a drinking party, no ladies present. If I may continue?” She nodded, smiling again. “They had begun to discuss some very interesting subjects, including your Major. I hadn’t realized how far his influence extends. There’s not a sector on the planet in which he doesn’t have a say. I was nicely milking a junior member of his own staff, and they are notoriously difficult to get close to. This one had recently been on the receiving end of the Major’s tongue and was only too happy to pour out his troubles. Then who should walk in but Radcliff himself. First my confidant scuttles away, then your precious husband decides we’re best of buddies and starts shouting me drinks. Stars, can he drink,” he added, groaning and putting a hand to his head.
“You did keep a discreet tongue in your head?”
“Oh, yes. At least, as far as I know. I would swear that wasn’t his purpose anyway. In fact, I had the distinct impression he knows something. Something we would rather he didn’t, and he was only too well aware of it.”
“Oh? What? You did find out?”
“I was more worried with keeping a sober head. No matter how much I poured into him, he made sure I matched him. I had to hold off in the end. Only problem was, the slower I drank, the faster your husband did. My glory boy image nearly swam away with the dregs.”
“So you’ve convinced Hamon you’re a fraud. Did you manage anything constructive?”
Jacquel glared at her for that. “That’s rich. Especially since I’ve told you I don’t know how many times that your Major’s reputation was well earned. The troops claim he’s known in every seedy hole in the Alliance, and from his stories I’d say they were right.”
Marthe glared just as heatedly back. “What sort of stories?”
“Nothing he’d want you to know. Suffice to say, no man would be shamed to be drunk under the table by him.”
This bit of male arrogance was too much for Marthe. “That was your disastrous event? A couple of silly boys trying to out-drink and out-talk one another?”
“Don’t be ridiculous, Mimi.” Despite the nickname, she recognized the tone. It came from the stern, sharp-witted soldier hidden so skillfully beneath Jaca’s light-hearted facade and silenced her immediately. “Let me make it simple for you. One: Major Radcliff, who normally detests both my company and my morals, goes out of his way to spend an evening with me. Two: he was clearly at ease, with not a hint of his usual reticence or suspicion. Three: despite viewing me as his enemy, he rendered himself vulnerable by drinking heavily. And four: he did not once question said enemy on the subject of vital importance to us both. Namely, the true state of affairs of this planet. In other words, our most dangerous opponent has had a win, and could only truly celebrate it with the one person he felt would lose most by it.”
“You were not the only one he celebrated with,” she murmured, bitterness twisting the corners of her mouth as understanding struck her.
Jacquel swore softly and immediately the soldier was gone, her oldest friend back. His hand lifted, tilting her chin up and cradling her cheek. “I doubt that was all there was to it with you,” he said in the same voice he’d used when he held her after Bendin’s funeral as she poured her grief out. He didn’t ask how she was feeling, did the baby tire her, was the strain too much. He didn’t have to. The answers were carved in her face, the gaunt shadows she saw daily in her mirror. Instead, he took her in his arms, lending her his strength as he had for so many years. After a long while, Marthe smiled gratefully.
“Friend of my twin, I thank you.”
“It won’t be long now. I’ve spoken to headquarters and, as of now, you’re off all duties. Except Radcliff, of course. That alone is more than enough to fully occupy you.”
“Be assured that my husband will be my whole concern.”
“Very praiseworthy sentiments, madame. I am delighted to hear them.”
The coolly mocking words came from the indolent figure of that very husband, lolling dubiously in the doorway and speaking in Harmish as had the
y. Marthe broke quickly from Jaca, one thought uppermost in her mind. How long had he stood there and how much had he heard?
“Hamon, how very silent you were. Fancy listening in to our petty concerns.”
“Quite illuminating they were too,” he said, a malicious smile lifting the corner of his mouth as he nodded to acknowledge des Trurain; but still it softened as he looked back to her. “How are you today, my dear? Not overdoing it, I trust?”
“A little, “she admitted, hoping he would accept it as a reason for the scene he’d interrupted. “I’ve been helping Claud Twyford translate some of our old texts. He’s a hard taskmaster.”
“You’ll be glad of a rest, then.” She looked up sharply, her internal alarms suddenly at maximum. “It has become necessary for you to keep to your rooms for a period.”
“And Jaca?”
“Will also be confined to his own excessively luxurious quarters. It’s no longer appropriate to have non-Terrans roaming freely about our central control building.”
“I didn’t know that I’d offended the Colonel,” said Jacquel dryly.
“You haven’t, but don’t bother appealing to him. Two of my men will be outside your door at all times and, as I am sure you’re aware, I have my own means of preventing any assistance you may be expecting.”
“And our door?” said Marthe sharply. “Will it also be guarded?”
“Unfortunately, my dear, my officers don’t trust you quite as much as I do,” Hamon replied, coolly apologetic. “Des Trurain, your escort is waiting.” He gestured to two large guards, both possessing that intangible air of professionalism she’d learnt to recognize in Hamon’s men.
Solemnly, she turned to Jacquel and took him by the hand, feeling a hard squeeze in answer to her ‘take care’ sign. “Till we meet again, sister of my friend,” he whispered. Then, in arrogant defiance and staring coldly at his Terran nemesis, he walked out between his guards. Marthe watched in silence. The door shut and she turned to confront her husband.
Resistance: Hathe Book One Page 25