Des Trurain gave him one, appraising look. Hamon glared back over Marthe’s gently cradled head, and in short order, des Trurain did as suggested. Hamon took a deep breath and looked long at Marthe, considering. The memory of the last contraction was still with her. Her fingers dug in to his arms and the fear was strong in her eyes.
“Hamon, help me. I can’t do this.”
“Of course you can,” he shot straight back. “You’re a trained doctor. Stop a minute and think. What do you remember?”
It brought her back, the sensible words pulling her from the edge. He could almost see steel wires pulling her upright as she sat, silently enumerating facts. Then she gave a shake.
“You’re right. What is there to fear? After all, I’ve assisted at more than one labor before now.” Just as the words left her, another contraction crashed in and Radcliff felt the tension snap back. “They get worse than this, and already I can’t do it,” she cried out. “Why can’t I?”
“Shush. It will be all right. Des Trurain—Jacquel—” he forced himself to say, knowing the familiarity would reassure her, “is calling the City doctors. Help will be here soon. In the meantime, you must have some kind of pain relief with you.”
“None that is safe to use in labor. How could I be so stupid?”
“Marthe!” His voice was harsh now. No more the soothing lover, but bracing, authoritative. “It doesn’t matter. The child is not due for hours yet and help will be here long before then. Until they arrive, you have me, and Jacquel, and your own skills and specialist knowledge. Remember your lectures. There must be something you can do to help ease the pains.”
“Breathe. Breathe over them,” she said automatically.
“See. You do remember. And relax. During the occupation, there must have been countless times when you needed to force yourself to relax, to beat the fear. This is no different.” He frowned at her sternly. Soon, he saw her almost invisible veneer of control slide back. It was only then that he realized it had been missing. For the first time since he’d met her, her face had been naked and, unconsciously, he was sealed in that instant even closer to this one woman above all else. All his adult life he’d been forced to maintain an iron front, knowing that to reveal the very human frailty within could endanger his safety if not his very life. Now he’d finally found another forced down that same, hard path. He was no longer alone.
“Forgive me for behaving so stupidly. It was being here on my own, and not expecting it to start, and everything,” she finished lamely, leaving him to wonder what she’d omitted. Jacquel’s return prevented him asking.
“Marthe’s doctors and a full team from the hospital are on their way. They’ll be here as soon as possible, bringing the entire contents of the surgery with them … so you can now relax, madame,” he said to Marthe with a twinkle.
A cynical snort was her only reply as, yet again, her face tightened in pain. Hamon held her close, feeling her subside into his shoulder as the spasm passed. A secret sigh of relief broke in him. This time, she’d been in control. Marthe, with her dry wit shielding her, made him feel a whole lot more confident than did the frightened creature who had greeted them. To think how often in those early days he had tried all he could to find a way to lay her bare. Now, he knew that he never again wanted to see her so lost.
Within half an hour, Marthe was almost back to her normal self, busily supervising the conversion of the cavern into an efficient medical ward and autocratically delivering orders from the throne of her bed. Once the changes were completed to her satisfaction, Hamon and Jacquel took the opportunity to relax for a moment, Hamon loudly moaning for her benefit at the decidedly unpalatable rations that were all she had available.
Marthe excused herself from the pleasure of joining them, infusing instead a much needed nutrient and electrolyte solution. With it, she felt more up to facing what must come—until another contraction brought back the secret terror she couldn’t shake, reminding her of the inevitable course ahead.
What if the ambulance couldn’t find her, or had an accident, or couldn’t get down the gully to her entranceway?
“And what if the sky fell? None of your farfetched scenarios would matter anymore.” broke in Hamon’s amused voice.
She jumped. “What do you mean?”
“You forget, I can read your face. Though not, I admit, as well as I once thought,” he added with a wry grin. “Right now, you’re imagining all the problems that could delay the relief team?”
She nodded, comforted by his percipience, and snuggled back into the shelter of his sturdy body as he joined her on the bed.
“One: nothing will happen. Two: you forget who is really delivering this baby. You and our son there. The best doctor in the world can do nothing without you.”
“I know you’re right. The problem is, I also know what can go wrong. That most babies are born with little help is not something that’s emphasized at Med School. It implies that doctors aren’t necessary,” she added with a grimace and a chuckle.
“Doctors like you, remember? You’ve delivered babies before?” She nodded. “And neither I nor des Trurain is exactly witless. We should be able to understand a few basic instructions.”
“Yes, bu—” She was forced to stop again. “No one ever told me it hurt so much,” she finally finished, the fear strong again.
Hamon held her tight, kissing her with all the love in him. His instinctive response steadied her as nothing else could and she clung wordlessly to him.
Jacquel took one look and decided to leave them together. It was clear that he could safely leave the care of Marthe to Radcliff, and he remembered with cool amusement the angry man of a few short hours ago. At the same time, the cynic in him wondered how long the present ceasefire would last. Trust Marthe to pick a man with a temper as hot and durable as her own. He chuckled then turned again to the matter that refused to stop niggling at his peace. How exactly were they to get a relief team in to such a hide? The entrance gully had been barely wide enough for his own skimmer, let alone one large enough to hold a full medical team.
He knew Marthe well enough to expect her bolt hole to conceal a number of hidden tricks, but he preferred not to disturb her with questions unless his own explorations failed. Radcliff may utter soothing words, but Jacquel remembered too well the anxiety of Marthe’s family and doctor. Even Radcliff must realize how dangerously thin and vulnerable she was. Jacquel had spent time in the mines in the early days of the occupation, and had seen the effect of poor food, stress and weariness on the burgeoning mothers there. That first sight of Marthe sitting on her bed had brought back the memories of those women with stark and frightening clarity.
He prowled through the rooms, hunting for anything that could be of use. It was not a large hide, he soon realized, but cunningly wrought to confuse attackers and aid its owner. Cursing, he yet again found himself turning a corner only to come back to the spot he’d just left. He’d discovered the secret arms and stores caches, but so far there was no sign of an alternative exit. There must be at least one, if not more, but he was not unduly perturbed by his failure. He’d worked with Marthe too often to underestimate the subtlety she could employ when needed.
After a further search, he began to feel somewhat aggrieved. Finally, he was forced to admit defeat and make his way back to Marthe’s bedroom.
“Des Trurain, Where did you slope off to?” came the harassed bark from an anxious Terran.
“Just checking out the place. My compliments, Marthe. You’ve done a fine job here. Even I got lost on occasion.”
“Thank you. It suits me,” she answered, clearly prompted by politeness alone.
Jacquel glanced at her keenly. “Very fine indeed. In fact, you’ve succeeded in flummoxing me. I can’t seem to find your other exits. You wouldn’t like to ease my curiosity?”
She smiled, fortunately not yet seeing the point of his question. “They are all personal-coded so it’s not surprising. Would you like me to show you?”<
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“Only if it doesn’t entail you moving. I don’t want your husband out for more of my blood than he’s after already.”
“I think a truce could be called for the present duration, des Trurain, but would you kindly stop annoying Marthe with such trivia.”
“Sorry. Just professional interest.”
“It’s all right, Hamon,” interposed Marthe hastily from her bed. “I must admit to being rather proud of this place anyway. There are three more exits. Two, small bolt holes, which I’m in no shape to show you at present, and the freight entrance in the landing dock.”
“Yes, we entered that way,” Radcliff put in.
“No, silly, that was only for small, one or two man skimmers. I mean the freight carrier entrance, directly into the air above. How else do you imagine I brought all this stuff in?” She broke off, suddenly struck with bitter understanding. “You want it for the ambulance, don’t you, Jaca?”
“It would be easier for them. That skimmer entrance calls for some tricky aerobatics, even with your guiding signal to help.”
“Why are you so concerned? What do you know about this baby?”
“Nothing,” denied Jacquel hurriedly. “What do I know about babies? I just know people, and doctors hate making house calls. I merely assumed they would rather work in their portable hospital than in this poky room,” he explained airily.
“Des Trurain is talking nonsense. Yet again,” interrupted an exasperated Radcliff, twisting round with a growl. “If all you can do is upset Marthe, then take yourself elsewhere.”
“Hamon, the doctors have told him something I should know about. Is the baby all right? I have to know,” she pleaded.
“Of course it is. Now calm down. Tension can’t be good for you or the baby.”
She frowned a moment longer, then, clearly receiving an answer to her question in her husband’s eyes, acquiesced.
Hamon stayed beside her, until an almost imperceptible flick of her eyes released him.
Quietly, he crossed to the far side of the room, to where des Trurain was assembling some odd boxes. Lying beside each was one of the Hathian patches.
“What are those?” he asked warily.
“Communitabs. One set for Marthe and one for the baby. They’ll enable the medics to record her reactions and will also feed back artificial nerve stimuli to moderate the pains if necessary. The boxes are to boost the signal, and the system is linked to both the hospital and the ambulance. The other two patches are for you and me, for transmissions the medics don’t want Marthe to hear.”
“Why?” Hamon looked across and smiled encouragingly at Marthe, then turned away from her knowing eyes. “You were rather clumsy there, but something’s wrong. Out with it.”
Jacquel continued to fiddle for some time, then stopped, took a breath as if coming to a decision, and looked at Hamon, all his old antipathy clear on his face.
“The doctors are worried that Marthe is not up to the rigors of labor. You haven’t seen her lately.”
Hamon flushed at the reminder.
“It’s as if she was in another universe, and didn’t give a damn if she never came back. Mentally and physically she’s a wreck. Classic overwork and stress syndrome, according to the doctor. By the Pillars, I know how tired I was when the Zenith finally arrived, and I wasn’t pregnant. Afterwards, I was given respect, a rest and honor. All Marthe got was work, more pregnant, a marriage split and dishonor, if not outright hatred from everyone she came across. I heard her doctor saying to Sylvan a week ago that he wasn’t certain if she could survive till the baby was born, let alone the rigors of labor.”
Radcliff blanched. “You’re joking!”
“No, and you know it. I owe you nothing, Terran, but for Marthe’s sake you need to know the truth.”
Hamon read the enmity in his eyes … and the honesty.
“So they’re bringing a mini-hospital?”
“Yes. Full life support for both. You can speak to the doctors yourself in a minute; but they’re still a good three hours away. Even with our technology, there’s a limit to what can be done at a distance.” He looked hard at Hamon, a bitter glint in his eye.
“What are you trying to say?”
The Hathian paused, his fists clenched. Then: “Look, I don’t know what your real feelings are here, and if it wasn’t for Marthe I wouldn’t particularly care; but you have quite deliberately caused her enough suffering already. The war is over and this is your child and, by the Pillars, if you don’t somehow get her through this, you will have me to reckon with,” Jacquel finished in a killing tone.
“I’m surprised you let me anywhere near her.”
“Unfortunately, you’re the only one she really wants. If not for that, I would throw you out on your filthy Terran backside this instant.”
“Then it’s a good thing for me that you wouldn’t be able to carry out such a threat.”
Each stared sickly at the other, all the former antagonisms boiling up. There was a quiet cough behind them, and Hamon spun round in fright.
“It’s nice to know that I still look good enough to be fought over; but your timing could be better.”
He and des Trurain smiled guiltily at the wearily delivered jest.
“Our apologies. Hostilities will be suspended for the duration,” Hamon promised, noting anew the blanched thinness of her face and the black etched into her eye sockets. Remembering Jacquel’s words, fear knifed through him. He quickly hid it from her beseeching eyes and moved over to the bed, folding her in his arms.
“Is it bad again?” He could feel the tension in her body—and the weariness. It was still early in her ordeal.
Soon afterwards, he settled her down on the bed. Squeezing the patch onto her wrist and the second to her abdomen, as directed by Jacquel, he hugged her gently.
“You must rest if you can. The doctors need you to lie still while they examine you.” He checked the position of the patches one more time, staring in amusement at the small, plastic circle. “I still find it hard to believe you could have worn something like this for so long without my knowledge. It was not as though I didn’t search you thoroughly—purely in the line of duty, you understand,” he added with an intimate chuckle. It calmed her, as he’d hoped, helping her to cope better with the next contraction
It hit her as he crossed the room to speak softly with Jacquel. He saw it out of the corner of his eye, but this time she didn’t call out. He continued walking, guessing that she needed to manage this one alone, if only to reassure herself that she could. It was the hardest task he’d faced, but he gave in to her, giving no sign he knew of her pain but relaxing his discreet scrutiny only when her change of breathing told him it was over.
There were hours to go yet. Hours.
It was to seem a very long wait and, well before the relief team arrived, Marthe was forced to ask for help with the pains. The medics could apply nerve blocks, but they could do little to halt the steady depletion of her resources as each fierce spasm took its toll. His son was pushing hard to be born, as if he sensed that his mother could not endure long.
The team was still a way off, but Hamon had taken to anxiously watching the door, silently urging their arrival. It seemed to him he was watching the life force being leached from her. His imagination, he chided, and battened down his fear lest she sense it. The visible effort she put into each contraction was written clearly in the lines of her face, her iron will never so evident as now, when it must force onwards her worn out body.
For Marthe, the world had shrunk to a vague, shadowy place of effort, pain and Hamon. It was to his arms and voice she clung as her muscles bunched and squeezed. She could sense his fear, but it was beyond her to calm it. She could barely hold back her own. With each, coiling spasm, she held tight to him, willing all the tension to ooze out along those comforting arms, breathing away this stupid dread.
Soon, even the contractions seemed less real, a constant surging of muscles like the waves in the sea. Alway
s there, a constant backdrop of tension and release. There was no pain; the doctors had stopped that through the patches, but they couldn’t stop the relentless draining away of the strength she needed. Terror rose in her—not the simple fear of the contractions, not fear of pain, but gut wrenching, crippling terror for her baby. She must not fail him. Not now, not so close to the end. The contractions were coming in frantic succession, each new one squeezing tight as the previous had barely released her. Soon, she must work harder still, pushing and pushing her precious little one out to the life-saving air.
Hysteria grabbed hold of her. “I can’t do it, Hamon. I can’t do it.”
“Yes, you can. I’m here. We will do it together.” But not even the calm voice of her beloved could help. She could feel the desperation in him as he gathered her into his arms, cradling her exhausted body in the strong bulwark of his.
“No, you don’t understand.” It was a struggle to keep her thoughts clear, to tell him what he must hear. “I can’t do it. I need proper help.”
“Don’t worry. They’re nearly here. In the meantime, they’re doing all they can.”
“Not … no.” But then she must turn again to the inward struggle. Wave after wave swept over her.
Hamon saw her weakness and his eyes caught des Trurain’s, full of the same frightening thought that filled him.
“They’re almost here,” affirmed des Trurain.
“And if they don’t make it in time?” Then he saw Marthe slip into a faint. Tenderness forgotten, Hamon shook her with all the strength in him. “Marthe. Wake up. You have to be able to tell us what to do.”
His only answer was a dull grunt, but he saw her eyelids flicker and she strove to sit.
Suddenly: “They’ve landed,” came the triumphant shout from Jacquel. There was the blessed sound of running feet. Hamon drew back, standing aside from the business-like ministrations of the medical team as they swamped the bed. An urgent cry from Marthe brought him hastily back.
“Quick, into the ship with her,” said one of the doctors. Hamon clung tightly to her hand, all he could reach through the smothering crowd of attendants. Marthe was placed on a stretcher and whisked out to the cavernous bay etched out of the rock, filled now by the large ship that had descended through a newly opened hole in the roof. The seemingly natural rock face had slid back into the surrounding hill. At another time, Hamon might have been amazed at the sight, but for now he was more concerned with the woman being passed quickly into the ship.
Pay the Piper: Hathe Book Two Page 9