Pay the Piper: Hathe Book Two

by Mary Brock Jones

  “It’s a good thing he’s not on trial,” muttered Yurin. “What’s he trying to do, get himself killed?”

  “He’s just not in a particularly apologetic mood,” murmured back Marthe, in blatant understatement.

  The questioning began, innocuous enough at first. Name, rank, position in Earth’s administration. Almost as if the prosecutor had been thrown off stride by the reality of a Terran Major’s presence. The uniform brought its memories of fear for him too, it seemed. And this was the defendant’s husband?

  His recovery didn’t take long, and the questions increased in both subtlety and danger.

  “You appear to have had little to do with the Terran military after your time at the academy.”

  “One automatically remained on reserve. Only a small percentage of graduates were needed for full-time duties,” was Hamon’s dry reply.

  “Then why, if you were contentedly pursuing your studies elsewhere and had little active experience, were you called into the occupying force?”

  “I happened to be in the vicinity, and I was one of the few Terrans ever to have visited Hathe.”

  “That would have been shortly prior to the attack, when you were attached to the staff of your father, Ambassador Garth Radcliff?”

  “Yes.”

  “And during that visit, did you at any time meet Marthe asn Castre?”

  “Not personally. I was most desirous of so doing but, as many of you may remember, young men desirous of closer acquaintance with the asn Castre sisters were a fairly common commodity in those days,” Hamon returned with a slight quirk to his mouth.

  “But you did become acquainted with members of the an Castre family?”

  “Councilor an Castre, in an official capacity only. On a personal basis, I spoke only to Bendin asn Castre. Not at all amicably, I might add.” She saw his lips tighten even now at the remembered humiliation.

  She wished he hadn’t as the prosecutor sensed a wrinkle of hope. “Oh?”

  “We had a disagreement over a young lady. He lost, and took it rather badly. A few days later, there was an official reception at the an Castre residence. He caught me watching his sisters, ‘ogling them’ he termed it, and had me thrown out.” There was a snap in Hamon’s voice, the lingering resentment obvious still. She wanted to throw something at him.

  “So you did have some personal connection to the an Castre family, then?” said his opponent.

  “A mutual dislike of the son and an admiration for the beauty of the daughters. That was all. There were never any discussions of a treasonable nature, if that is what you’re trying to induce me to say. I will admit that I never forgot the ladies, particularly the younger sister, but that, I do assure you, had nothing whatever to do with politics—as you would realize if you had one, healthy red blood cell in you.”

  A red flare of anger drenched the prosecutor’s cheeks and he swiftly changed the subject to the details of Hamon’s service during the occupation years.

  “Your position in the Terran forces?”

  “Chief of Staff, Special Services. The intelligence branch of the occupation force.”

  “Your superior?”

  “I answered directly to Colonel Johne.”

  “And he had your full loyalty?”

  “I also held a watching brief for the Terran Council.”

  “In what way? What areas concerned them?”

  “I have not been authorized by my government to reveal any further details.”

  “Oh? How convenient. Can you tell us anything at all of your duties?” enquired the prosecutor scathingly.

  “Only those matters pertaining to this case, and which are not prejudicial to the security of Earth and its interests,” Hamon replied coolly.

  “You were rather more involved in the administration than suggested by your official position, though, were you not?”

  “I had other responsibilities, yes. Mainly to do with the use of Hathian personnel.”

  Marthe knew that look. It was the public face Hamon had worn in the early days of her captivity—that of the aloof Terran Major, letting nothing out and, conversely, protecting him from the ugliness of what he must do.

  “In the use of Hathian personnel?” sneered the prosecutor. “Are you referring to the illegal use of Hathian prisoners as forced labor in the mines? In the course of which many thousands of Hathians lost their lives?”

  “That was an area I was in involved in latterly,” agreed her husband coolly.

  “Why were these responsibilities given to you?”

  It was an accusation, one that he ignored. “It tied in well with the intelligence role, and was useful in our attempts to infiltrate Terran agents into the Hathian population. Also with keeping track of the various factions present in Hathian society.”

  “You spied on us is what you mean when you discard the official niceties. Did you request this duty?” demanded an Koth in theatrical disbelief.

  “No, but I did not refuse it either. I appear to have a knack for that sort of thing, and it seemed the most efficient way for me to serve the occupation.” Still Hamon’s mask held, despite the scorn from the prosecutor and the rising air of animosity permeating the courtroom.

  “So you were desirous of furthering the Terran occupation of Hathe. Were deeply committed to it, in fact?”

  “Of course. At the time, it appeared to be our only hope of survival.”

  “And the effect on the population of Hathe was irrelevant?”

  Hamon paused, still expressionless, but his gaze slid momentarily to catch hers before turning to look squarely at the prosecutor.

  “It was not something I could afford to consider,” he said.

  And despite imprecations and expostulations, he refused to add anything more. A tense air of silence hung over the courtroom. Marthe had noticed Hamon marking the exits and guards when he’d first entered. He was in full, battle-ready mode—as was she. The room had that deafening throb of danger, felt too many times in the past to be ignored now. At one stage of the questioning, she received an almost imperceptible glance from Hamon, to which she replied with a brief, reassuring nod. She’d already picked out several of her fellow agents, scattered inconspicuously through the watching crowd, with Jacquel prominently on guard at the front of the room.

  He stood a few paces only from Hamon. As the tension mounted, Marthe was relieved to see him move discreetly closer to the witness stand. All around the room, the agents sharpened their deployment, a couple handy to her and the rest strategically placed to quell any riot.

  Marthe surreptitiously caught Jacquel’s attention, using an abbreviated hand signal that only he would understand. Jacquel saw it and replied cryptically. Too many of those in the room knew body codes and could make a fair guess at a message, but Marthe knew him well enough to catch his meaning. Be prepared. We’re armed and in contact with shielded patches.

  It was a reassurance, but not sufficient to allow her to relax her guard. Neither, she noted, did her husband.

  The prosecutor was becoming more particular to her own case, having failed dismally to wrench a general confession of wrongdoing from his victim.

  “It was you who instituted the search for the Hathian servant girl, Riarda, who was in truth the defendant, Marthe an Castre was it not, Major? A search which resulted in Madame an Castre’s exposure?”

  “That is correct.”

  “Would you care to explain to the court your reasons for this search? After all, Hathian servant girls were not uncommon in Terran quarters. Why the strong interest in this particular one? Could you not have merely ordered another?”

  “She had such beautiful hair.”

  The prosecutor stared. “You suspected a girl merely because of her hair?”

  “Partially,” affirmed Hamon. “Most Hathian women at the time favored a dank, lusterless style. But Madame an Castre’s hair was … memorable.” Hamon allowed a small smile of fond reminiscence to light his face, which she strongly suspected would
bring to the women in the room a sudden, vivid understanding of her choice. “But also, there was a too timely coincidence. Just after I removed her head cover and before I actually managed to see her face, I was interrupted by a Hathian male with a bogus message requesting me to see Colonel Johne immediately. When I returned, the maid was gone, and was replaced the next day with a new girl. I have a particularly suspicious nature, and coincidence rarely fits my scheme of affairs. Hence the desire to discover just who this mysterious woman might be.”

  “So it was Madame an Castre’s failure to adequately disguise herself which led to her exposure?”

  “Yes, but if you imagine that beautiful women such as she can happily spend a lifetime dressed in sackcloth and ashes, then you live in a fool’s paradise. I had seduced a number of Hathian women previously, many of whom possessed some hidden gem of nature. My reputation was well known, and I presume her superiors knew the risks entailed when they first assigned her to this mission. In fact, if I was their target, then I would suggest that they quite deliberately chose an agent with such a quirk.”

  Marthe saw the grimness behind the smile and all at once was reminded disastrously of his first taking of her. Startled, she recalled his words of the other night, the anger against Hathe that he still held. Had held since that day, it now seemed. He had said that he couldn’t forgive Hathe for what he’d done here. Equally, it seemed, he couldn’t forgive Hathe for what loyalty to her people had forced her to make happen that day. When, unable to stand the lie a moment longer, he had brought into the open the full ugliness of what they were doing by stripping away the sham of sensuality and turning a cynical seduction into a brutal taking. No, he had not forgiven Hathe for that. Had he forgiven her?

  While she was turning the thought over, the prosecutor had risen in outraged protest. “That is a foul slur, sir. It is merely the pricking of your own conscience speaking,” he gasped angrily.

  “You think so?” was Hamon’s dry reply. “Whatever, she certainly caught my attention and would, in the normal course of such affairs, have secured an intimate position from which to observe Terran affairs. Unfortunately for her superiors’ plan, no one seems to have researched my background sufficiently to realize there was a high probability of my recognizing the lady. As indeed I did when she was brought in for questioning.”

  Hamon lolled, apparently at ease and daring the prosecutor to doubt his words. But Marthe saw the alert wariness behind the pose.

  “So you identified the defendant. She was then imprisoned and held for further questioning.”

  “That is correct.”

  “Where was she held?” an Koth put in softly.

  “In my quarters.”

  “A most unusual place of internment, surely?”

  “Perhaps,” allowed Radcliff. “We’d never succeeded in learning anything of value through the usual prison regime, so I thought I’d try a new approach.”

  “It was not rather that you wanted to rekindle an affair with an old acquaintance, whom you hoped to enlist for the Terran cause?”

  Hamon paused to eye the prosecutor, as if in doubt of the man’s sanity. He continued, however, in the same, even tones as before. “Of course I wanted to start an affair. I have already admitted to being attracted to the lady. But to say that I hoped to enlist her to the Terran cause is rather extreme. I prefer to deal in reality, not dreams. Certainly, I hoped to confuse and disarm her enough to get her to let slip some information of interest to us. But to expect that a Hathian would assist the Terran cause of her own free will, was really rather beyond the realms of probability.”

  “And did she?”

  “Did she what, exactly?”

  “Let slip any information.”

  There was a collective intake of breath throughout the courtroom.

  “Well, of course.”

  She felt the shock hit the watching crowd as her husband stared unconcerned at the prosecutor. “I’m not totally inept. If I couldn’t discover something of a woman’s background after living with her for months, then I really wasn’t quite the threat your people supposed.”

  “Could you tell us what kind of information Madame an Castre gave you?” demanded the prosecutor hungrily.

  “I wouldn’t say that she gave it to me. More that I deduced it from various comments and activities.”

  “And you learned what?” the prosecutor urged in frustration.

  “Mostly generalities. First and foremost, her behavior and that of des Trurain confirmed in my mind the existence of an organized resistance, communicating by means we were unable to ascertain. It did become clear that your scale of technology was more advanced than we had supposed. I also gained an impression of an impending event and some idea of the time scale involved.”

  “And what effect did your knowledge have?”

  “Not as much as I hoped,” admitted Hamon, to an Koth's disappointment.

  “You did not ignore it, surely? A committed Terran officer, such as yourself?”

  “No, of course not.” There was a slight twitch of his lips. A hint of dry amusement at the prosecutor’s naivety. “My own surveillance teams were immediately strengthened and put on alert, and the general security measures my staff employed were increased. Unfortunately, I couldn’t proceed further without furnishing concrete proof of my suspicions to Colonel Johne. That I was unable to do to the Colonel’s satisfaction until the last day of the occupation.”

  The prosecutor ignored most of what he said, latching firmly on to his closing words. “Something happened then, on that final day?”

  “Yes, but that’s already well known. As you are perfectly aware, I was held at blaster point and shot by my own wife,” was Hamon’s grimly exasperated reply. He refused even to glance at her now, she saw as she watched him intently.

  “Yes, yes, but prior to that. What precipitated this, as you say, well known incident?” insisted the prosecutor equally exasperated.

  “After many trials, our communications expert had finally managed to activate one of the Hathian patches we had confiscated, and had picked up a clear signal from the resistance network. It was the proof we needed to force the Colonel to call out the troops.”

  “And I understand you obtained this proof thanks to the help of the defendant?”

  “Not exactly. She was physically restrained by a technician and myself, then we forced her hand to touch the patch to activate it, against her will.”

  “But we have heard from her colleagues that Madame an Castre was a highly trained agent. Surely she could have evaded such restraint?”

  “It’s unlikely,” was the blithely arrogant response. “I had previously had to similarly restrain des Trurain, during the early period of his incarceration. If he wasn’t successful, with the same training and free to fight back, I assume that Marthe realized it would be useless to try to escape. Not that I was about to give her a chance to anyway. It was too important to us that she be forced to help. Apart from which,” he added, “any attempt to use the kind of tactics needed would have blown her cover at once.”

  “Which she did, shortly afterwards,” the prosecutor pointed out triumphantly.

  “She had no choice then. I was about to set off a full mobilization of all Terran troops. Any agent worth her salt could recognize it as a point of no return.”

  “For one who professes not to have been fully in her confidence, you seem very familiar with Madame an Castre’s thought processes?”

  “We are similarly trained, that’s all.” Hamon replied defiantly.

  Try as he might to keep control, Hamon was becoming seriously annoyed with this prying sprat, and it was only continual reminders of the consequences to Marthe that kept him from giving the man the full blast of his tongue. The tension in the room was rising fast enough already.

  A smug smile crept across an Koth’s countenance. “How did you learn that the patch was a surveillance device, if Madame an Castre didn’t tell you?” he dropped in to the fraught silence.
>
  “We’d always been suspicious of the unusual patches and had previously analyzed those found on the other Hathians detained with Marthe. At the time, we were stumped, and they were put by for further study at a later date.” He’d again taken to lolling back to appear fully at ease. His eyes, though, kept discreetly scanning the room. He was careful to avoid looking at her directly but he could see Marthe doing the same, aware of the knife edge they walked. The wrong word, wrong attitude from him, could send the crowd plunging into an angry mob. How could he protect Marthe from such danger yet at the same time give answers that preserved her innocence and honor while keeping some faith with the duty he owed to his own integrity? It was a question beginning to seriously exercise him. And still the prosecutor persisted.

  “Your researchers just happened to have some spare time? Or was there another reason why they suddenly decided the patches were a communicator?”

  “As I’ve already said, I had realized from some comments of Marthe’s that Earth was running out of time. Hence the sudden urgency. Also, I mentioned to Captain Braddock one day the degree of advancement of Hathian science over Earth’s, and he took it from there.”

  Hamon let his impatience show, as he wondered how often he must answer the same question couched in ever more guises. He caught a ‘behave yourself’ glare from Marthe and was relieved to feel an involuntary grin twitch his lips.

  Marthe was not as amused. The man seemed to have a death wish! She glared once more then leaned over to catch her counselor’s words.

  “Is he safe here?” Yurin was asking, with a slight jerk of his head to the crowd behind. Marthe nodded, glancing swiftly at Jacquel and his cohorts.

  “Deln Crantz’ people,” he murmured in satisfaction. “Excuse me a minute, will you,” he said, then rose and left the room. Startled, Marthe looked to him, but he was already gone.

  Once outside, Yurin spoke quietly to the door guard then walked over to knock on an inconspicuous door across the hallway. Inside, he was greeted by the diminutive figure seated before one of the ranked stalls of controls, and surrounded by a posse of technicians.