“You really don’t want to know,” he said dourly.
“I know you don’t want to discuss it, but I do need to know,” Yurin returned. Hamon felt his searching gaze and, beside him, could feel the sudden tension in Marthe. An Begum had picked it up too. He saw his quick glance to the side and the almost imperceptible tightening of his hand on his glass.
“Why?” demanded Marthe, leaning forward. “You’re not the type to delve into people’s lives for the sake of gossip. Of what interest can this be to you?”
“You forget. The prosecution may have bagged Hamon as their witness, but I will be the one to question him last. If we’re to impress the judges, it has to be good. To do that, I need to know what makes your husband tick.” Then he looked directly at Hamon, giving him no room to hide. “This is the one thing I can’t fathom: why you should hate us. What have we done to you, especially compared to what you directly and the Terran forces in general, have wreaked on our home world? Guilt, yes, but why hate?”
“You mean, what right do I have to feel anything against you?” said Hamon to the lawyer, who nodded. “It’s a fair question. There’s no logic to it, I agree.” He may be been looking at the lawyer, but it was the tension in Marthe he answered. “I can’t forgive Hathe for what I did here. Most particularly for what I did to you,” he said softly in despair, his gaze turning to lock hers. “There is no sense in that, I know, but there it is, and I don’t think I can ever change it.”
“You mean, you regret what you did?” Yurin asked.
“No.”
“He cannot regret it when he knows that, given what he knew then, he would do exactly the same again,” said Marthe, answering in his stead and staring at him, grief-stricken. “As would I,”’ she finished softly.
For a few seconds, Yurin could almost see the silent message pass between them. An uneasy frisson shivered up his back and he suddenly found himself at a loss. For the first time in the trial, he understood his task in all its glaring cruelty. Grief lodged in his gullet. Then both turned to him as one, exposed and raw.
“You have no love for Terrans either?” he said to Marthe. She shook her head, barely looking at him. “But if your husband loves his home so…?”
“He is counting the days till he returns,” confirmed Marthe, staring blindly ahead now.
“They need me,” Hamon told her, a desperate apology in his voice.
“Why?” demanded Yurin. “What in Mathe can you do, a marked man, closely watched by the Alliance, as you will be?”
“I’m a born leader,” replied Hamon, leaning back, as the lines of bitterness on his face deepened, “and I have seen how people act when repressed. You know what it did to Hathians. Terrans are no different. In a short while, Earth will be a hotbed of rebellion. They need people like me to control the mess.”
“You’re a marked man.”
“Maybe, but I’m also connected to, or friendly with, a number of influential Terrans. In plain Harmish, I’m a spymaster and very good at it.”
“So you’ll help the new, Alliance-backed, Terran government?”
“I don’t know. It depends on what I find there,” he replied defiantly.
“And Marthe? Will you stay here in the meantime?”
She shook her head. “It’s not safe, even if the Council would let me.” Yurin raised a querying eyebrow. “I’ve already been told that, whatever the outcome of the trial, the Council will have me exiled—for reasons of political stability,” she explained, with a short, caustic laugh.
“For a few months, yes, but you will return.”
“No. It will be for a long, long time. And Hamon can never return.”
“But this planet; it’s your heart,” gasped Yurin in disbelief. Radcliff’s hand clenched down on Marthe’s, his head swinging back to her.
“As Earth is yours,” she murmured sadly to him.
“So you will stay together?”
“There’s no other possibility,” said Radcliff, pulling Marthe close.
“Then, Marthe, you will be able to make a life on Earth? After fighting against them for five years, and despite what they did here?” Images of Marthe during the occupation filled his mind.
“I … don’t know,” she replied, for once, he noticed, avoiding Radcliff’s searching gaze.
“Then where is there for you together?”
They were silent for a long time. ”Now that is a very interesting question,” was the bitter reply of the Terran, finally catching and holding his wife’s gaze for a very long time.
Chapter Eight
“Once more into the fray,” chanted Marthe jubilantly, her feet beating time with the refrain as she marched with her guards to the courtroom. “Ready to slay ’em in the aisles, Master Barrister?” She turned to grin at Yurin, a shameless twinkle in her eyes.
Yurin grinned back at her. “I’ll certainly do my utmost. You won’t recognize yourself in the saintly figure our character witnesses will produce.”
“Not too saintly, I hope. I rather fancy being seen as a loveable rogue-type of heroine.”
“Hard luck. Saintly heroines win court cases. Now, behave yourself, or you’ll have this lot believing our dear friend over the way,” he scolded, discreetly gesturing towards the prosecution bench.
Marthe did subside, but the excitement of finally starting the attack remained with her. She sat then gave her customary direct glance to the vid receptors. Each day, this was her first act after taking her seat in court—whether to show her face and reassure Hamon at home or to remind herself of his presence there, not even she could say.
The morning proceeded as Yurin had predicted. Marthe was stunned to find that Yurin had called in old friends and colleagues from every corner of the planet, many met but briefly on assignment, yet impelled, nevertheless, to give witness to the service she’d given.
Here, a lady from the earliest days, that dark time in the mines. A face poorly remembered, last seen straining and then triumphant in childbirth. The baby had lived, managed to survive the occupation, and was now thriving, she was glad to hear.
Next, a man she couldn’t remember, and only vaguely the assignment. A village cut off and short of supplies. She had diverted a Terran supply train to come to their aid. The man spoke of the injuries she’d carried—cuts and bruising mostly, from the Terran soldiers. She’d been working as a domestic drudge, a handy cover to use as she altered the soldiers' orders to make them change route. She couldn’t now call to mind her hurts; it wasn’t an uncommon occurrence and, short of those injuries needing hospitalization, she’d usually treated herself on the spot and carried on regardless. Still, judging by the witness’s words, she must have looked quite a sight when she hit their village.
Now, a well remembered face from a particularly trying case. It had taken her team weeks, slowly working their way into a Terran command depot. She had posed as a laundry maid this time. It was one mission she wouldn’t forget. She had nearly been caught one night, halfway through downloading Terran communications data. A trio of soldiers decided to use the very room she was in for an illegal game of Fivers, staying for hours and oblivious to a very nervous Hathian crouching behind a nearby cabinet. And with excruciatingly painful cramps in her leg, she recalled with a grimace.
So it continued. The litanies of people she had either helped or worked with, all attesting to her courage, endurance and deep commitment to her home world. Also, to the cost she’d paid, again and again, in drudgery, humiliation, exhaustion and pain. It might have caused her something of a swollen head, if she didn’t remember too well what those speaking had also endured.
That night, returning home, she met Hamon at the entry. Then looked away at what she saw in his eyes.
He cried aloud in negation, pulling her back to face him and staring hard into her eyes. He shook his head when she went to speak, leading her into the privacy of their sitting room first then faced her again.
“You were hurt in the occupation?”
&nb
sp; “Sometimes. We all were.”
“How badly?” he demanded.
“Nothing too serious. The odd broken leg, a few blows leading to concussion, that’s all. It came with the territory.”
“How often in that five years did you live normally? Proper food, a bed, clean clothes?”
“Plenty,” she shot back in angry embarrassment. “I had regular breaks on Mathe, and you’ve seen my hideout. The ordinary citizens who put up the smokescreen had it far worse; they hardly ever got a break; and it was worst of all for the families. Watching children grow up like young animals and never, ever getting a break for fear the little ones would blurt out something to a Terran on their return.”
“Oh, stars!” He drew a hand raggedly through his hair. “I do know. I was one of those enforcing it, remember. No wonder I couldn’t break you. My treatment was nothing compared to what you’d all ready endured. You could have been killed!”
“If it’s any consolation, those months with you may have been wonderful, but they were also the nearest I ever came to losing it. Physical stress ain't got nothing on psychological pressure,” she threw in with a choked off laugh.
He hugged her, then was silent a moment.
“How badly do you hate Earth for what happened here? “
She stared into space while she gathered herself, then turned to lock her eyes with his. “If you’re asking, don’t I really, in some part of me, hate you for it, then no, I don’t. 1 can’t. I love you, Hamon Radcliff, body, heart and soul, and nothing you can do will change that.” She gasped in relief as his lips claimed hers, drowning in the warmth of him.
Afterwards, she continued as if uninterrupted, driven by the memories of the day to bring into the open all that was unsaid between them. “Do I hate Earth? I suppose, yes. I do know I’m incredibly angry at what you did here. I still can’t believe how … ignorant you were! How could a whole planet be so selfishly, arrogantly isolated?”
He drew a hand through his already ravaged hair.
“Do you want an apology?”
“No, damn you, I want an explanation. You were educated on Cantor. You must have noticed the differences! Did it never occur to you how backward Earth was?”
“I’m not a scientist,” he replied lamely.
“Don’t give me that. You’re pretty damned astute about everything else. You travelled, so what about your scientists? Where was Ferdo's dratted curiosity then?”
“They weren’t allowed to leave Earth. We needed their talents too badly at home.”
“And no one ever thought to look at the rest of the Alliance planets, to see if maybe we had solved the problems you couldn’t?”
“Why should we? Earth’s population still exceeds that of all the newer Alliance planets combined. We had minds enough of our own to come up with solutions that would work for Earth.”
“Yes, but not minds that had been challenged as they were on the other worlds. Don’t you know how the original colonies were settled?” she demanded. “Set up on an ad hoc basis. Earth’s only interest lay in how many people they could be rid of and what could be milked from the new worlds. But we didn’t sink as we should have. We swam, finding the answers to questions you of Earth never even dreamed existed. And now you expect us to understand you? To rescue you, even?”
“Is that so unreasonable?” Hamon threw back defensively. “Do you have no sense of duty, of heritage? Earth is the home of humanity!”
“I have a nostalgic sense of interest, yes, but this is my home. I was born on Hathe, as were my parents, my grandparents, and generations before. This world—it’s who I am! Against that, all you offer is the sop of your own ignorance?”
Hamon released her, hiding from her now behind the shattered clay mask of his face. He stared down at his clenched hands, then slowly unknotted them and turned to face her.
“It’s the only excuse I have to offer,” he said. His head came up, rigid with decision. “You ask about my time on Cantor,” he continued. “First, it was a political degree, not a scientific one. I do have a basic grounding in science and technology, but if it works, I’m not particularly interested in how. And yes, of course I noticed that Cantor and Hathe had a higher standard of living than us but, like other Terrans, I put it down to the benefit of a smaller population and, presumably, a higher allocation of urgonium.”
Marthe leapt up at that, furious exasperation flooding her.
“But they didn’t. Earth was our single largest customer, the heaviest user of urgonium in the Alliance. When you asked for more, we thought it was a business scam. Buy from us and on-sell to the small, economically vulnerable planets, or stockpile it and push up the market price. That’s why you were treated so coolly. We thought it a cheeky shot. No one took you seriously!”
“And all we could do was let our precious pride be ruffled and withdraw in a sulk,” Hamon said in bitter acceptance. “Our people were dying and no one seemed to care. We saw no choice but to take action.”
“If only Earth had approached the Alliance. God, do you think we wanted the last five years?”
“Do you think I wanted it for you?” hit back Hamon. “Don’t you know I would give almost anything for us to be together without all—this—between us? If we must wallow in ‘if only’ country, then if only your brother hadn’t interfered, we might have met and fallen in love five years ago. Maybe even have prevented this whole mess! Is that what you want me to say?”
He grabbed her roughly, but she pulled away, an irate flush heating her cheeks. “So it’s Bendin's fault now?”
He dropped his hands suddenly, a deathly tiredness washing his face. “Forgive me. I should never have said that. No, I don’t blame your twin. Blame it on history, I guess.”
He sat back, staring into space, saying nothing when, moments later, she rose to go to bed, shutting the door firmly after her.
The next morning, Hamon wasn’t around when she left for the court. She hugged her small son convulsively. It had become too dangerous to take him across town with her and, fearfully, she returned the dozing bundle to Ruthie's kindly arms. Unsure whether or not to be glad at Hamon’s absence, she left the house in a strangely equivocal state. It persisted through the remaining days of increasingly poignant testimony.
Not once in those days did she so much as glance at the vid receptors.
Then the defense came to the end of its case. All the evidence had been presented: the word of friends and those possibly not so friendly, the surveillance transcripts, medical and duty records, her service records, all the screeds of documentation needed to bludgeon the court into finding her innocent.
All that remained was for the prosecution to present its one last, controversial witness. Then, the charade could be done with.
The morning of Hamon’s testimony arrived. He looked at her, a cool, assessing look, and she looked back. Marthe gave him her hand and he accepted it in the formal clasp that was all she seemed able to give him today. Too many uncertainties lay between them.
The security this morning was even more extraordinary than usual. Jacquel was in charge of the arrangements, his legal responsibilities over. He and Hamon met with their usual, cold hostility.
This time, though, she noticed something else. A kind of indefinable trust could be seen in the, for once, not arrogant look in Hamon’s eyes as he met the gaze of her oldest friend.
“Des Trurain, a favor if you would.”
Jacquel paused, then nodded shortly despite no hint of supplication in Hamon’s voice.
“Riardan. Can you have him and Ruthie taken to Moon One transit base as soon as possible after we leave? Inconspicuously? If anything happens, find him sanctuary. Not here, and not on Earth,” he added bitterly.
Marthe kept her face closed and distant. She hadn’t known he would ask this but wasn’t surprised. Nor, it seemed was Jacquel.
“Don’t worry,” was all he said. “I’ll do as you say. He’ll be safe, whatever.”
A hint of strain l
eft Hamon’s face and she could feel the same inside herself. They turned together to enter the heavily armed, plain car. Hamon was in full Terran dress uniform, a fact Marthe was unable to comment on, confining herself to one raised eyebrow. The look he gave in reply told her he was in a ‘be damned to ’em’ mood. Quickly and without further talk, their group left, one only amongst a number of similar cars to leave the an Castre house in an attempt to elude the watching and sullen crowd. The windows were darkened to shield Hamon from view. All Hathe knew that today was the day the hated Terran was to appear. As a precaution, the rest of the Terran hostages had been shipped out to other Alliance planets a few days prior. That had been fuel enough for the hotheads, now more determined than ever not to be deprived of revenge on this one Terran at least—among the worst perpetrators of the Terrans' repressions, from all accounts. And that girl had actually married him?
Just once, she wished she could be strong minded enough to avoid checking the newsvids.
Much to their guards’ relief, the trip to court passed without incident. Here, they must part: Marthe to her usual seat, Hamon to a specially secured unit—for safety, they were told, until he was called. Marthe was about to move off after a brief farewell, but turned back, hesitantly. Suddenly, she went to Hamon, ignoring their minders and leaned up for his kiss.
Gently, he took her face in his hands, his mouth warmly caressing hers. Pulling back, he looked at her with all the promise of his passion.
“I love you, and will do so till the end of my days. Remember that, whatever happens.” He pulled her closer into the harbor of his arms for a final, brief moment before he was marched off, a grimly withdrawn figure in the center of his guards.
Marthe next saw him as he entered the courtroom, a sullen, hostile silence falling as he marched in, head erect and looking for all the world as if nothing had changed, as if, in fact, Earth still ruled this planet and it was he who sat in judgment here today. There was an audible gasp as those present recognized the Terran uniform, too hatefully familiar to so many of them.
Pay the Piper: Hathe Book Two Page 12