“The Council has called in the big guns!” commented an amused Yurin. “Marshall deln Crantz, a pleasure to see you again.”
“And what might you be up to, young an Begum? Shouldn’t you be across the way listening to your learned opponent?” returned the little man’s incongruously elegant tones.
“No, no. Got it all on recording. It’s getting a bit heavy going for me,” Yurin said blithely, an unashamed grin splitting his face.
“Then what do you want? As you can see, we’re rather busy.”
“You are, aren’t you? Whose safety is the Council so concerned with? Marthe’s or the Terran’s?”
“Both, of course,” and the shaggy eyebrows rose sharply.
“And can you protect them?”
“Marthe certainly. The only danger spot there, since you were wise enough to keep her away from the stand, will come when the not guilty verdict is delivered. We’ll get her away smartly then,”
“Not guilty? You do have a lot of faith in my powers of persuasion,”
“We better be able to,” came the firm reply.
Yurin ignored this, having always known of the strength of loyalty among Marthe’s former colleagues, “What about the Major?”
“It depends … on his temper and your questions. For the former, there’s not too much worry. He may hate every second up there, but he’s good. Very good. He’ll do.”
“He certainly seems to feel that he had the measure of the resistance’s objectives,” It was a question, and Gof deln Crantz raised one eyebrow at the impudence.
“Was he accurate, do you mean?” he said. Yurin nodded reluctantly. “Of course he was. Oh, not that Marthe was set on to him deliberately. She had a number of possible targets, depending on how things fell out; but, no, Radcliff had it right. We weren’t concerned about her refusal to dull her hair and her beauty was a factor in her selection. Which she never realized, though young des Trurain, damn him, began to guess at it. Nearly ruined the whole thing with his gallant rescues,”
It was Yurin's turn for grim looks, unsure that he welcomed such frankness.
“You needn’t look like that either, you young pup,” barked deln Crantz, “Hamon Radcliff was every bit as dangerous to us as he infers. He’s very astute and deeply committed to the welfare of Earth, which you would do well to remember. Marthe may have let slip a bit much to him, but equally, there’s every chance that if she hadn’t distracted him so effectively, he could well have wrecked our entire campaign. Don’t go forgetting that!”
“I thought you admired him, sir,” said a surprised Yurin.
“Oh, I do. I have the greatest respect for him—as an opponent. I will also do my utmost to ensure his safe exit from this planet. Neither of which should be taken to mean that I don’t wish that he could pay, even in some small measure, for the considerable damage he helped to wreak on our home.”
“Good,” said Yurin. “Because I mean to make him. I only came across here to find out how well you can secure him. I may not be able to bring him to trial, but I can ensure that he is the one who wears the role of villain in this case. Just let me know when to stop. That crowd won’t stand much more.”
With a gruff, “Agreed,” deln Crantz stood to shake his hand briskly, both in dismissal and approval, before returning to his screen.
Chapter Nine
Back in the courtroom, Jacquel edged closer to Radcliff. The prosecutor was coming to the closing stages of his interrogation. He still dwelt on Marthe’s actions on that last, fatal day and was still failing dismally to trick Radcliff into implicating her in any voluntary collusion.
To hear him talk, you would think that Radcliff was utterly blameless, thought Jacquel in disgust. He noticed Yurin an Begum slip back into the room. Simultaneously, he signaled to two of his staff to move up and complete the cordon around Marthe, securing the path to the side door in the event of trouble. He could probably get Radcliff out too, he supposed. Then, glancing at Marthe, he reluctantly signaled for support for the other side door.
On the stand, Hamon was relieved when an Koth came to his disgruntled end. Yet the man could fairly claim a degree of satisfaction, and he’d managed to create a level of doubt about the question of Marthe’s cooperation. Passing by his opposing colleague, the prosecutor rewarded himself with a smug bow, as he gestured an Begum onwards to the trial’s denouement.
There was an amused smile in return, then Yurin moved towards his prime objective. Hamon felt a warning frisson crackle across his shoulder blades. The defense lawyer was looking almost happy.
“Major an Radcliff. Or no, you prefer the Terran form, I understand.”
Hamon nodded warily.
Behind her security screen, Marthe groaned. She had played with Yurin as a child. He’s going to be nasty, and she glared at Jaca as she caught his gleeful recognition.
“Major Radcliff. You have cohabited, to use the Terran term, with the defendant for just over a year?”
“On and off, yes,” agreed Hamon.
“On and off. Does that description apply to the time of the Terran occupation?”
“No.
“So we can take it that Marthe lived with you continuously then, for a period of about six months?”
“Yes.
“Was this always by her own choice?”
“Not at first, no. Later, I cannot say. You would have to ask Marthe,” said Hamon defensively.
“This would be after the mutual attraction between you had surfaced? You had, in fact, fallen in love. And she stayed with you by choice after that? You would have made no attempt to detain her, if she should have chosen to leave?”
“Not exactly.”
“No? What would you have done if Marthe had disappeared?”
Hamon glared at his tormentor, then forced himself to relax and managed a slight grin. “I would have turned the planet upside down.”
“Very romantic, I’m sure,” was the dry reply. “In fact, that is exactly what you would have done, isn’t it Major? And not only because Madame an Castre is a very beautiful woman with whom you were in love. Why would you have ‘turned the planet upside down’?”
Hamon locked the muscles in his face into place and buried all feeling beneath his role of Terran officer. “Madame an Castre was a potential source of valuable information. I would have acted the same had Jacquel des Trurain decided to vanish.”
“You did not, then, believe that she was the innocent refugee that she claimed?” said an incredulous Yurin.
“No. As she well knew. I was convinced that both Marthe and des Trurain were Hathian spies. Rightly, as it turned out.”
Yurin paused in his pacing, casually leaning a hip on the edge of his table and turning partly to one side, thus including the audience in his amiable discourse. “Let us clarify matters, shall we? During the Terran occupation of Hathe, Marthe an Castre and Jacquel des Trurain were, in fact, your prisoners. A fairly relaxed imprisonment, surely?”
“Both were under full surveillance at all times and were always accompanied by Terran soldiers on the odd occasion either left the Citadel.”
“What a trusting husband you were. I hope Marthe,” he turned to her apologetically, “is not too shocked by these revelations.”
“She was fully aware of the degree of surveillance I maintained over her, and the reasons for it.”
“Was she also aware of what would happen if she left?”
“I can’t say for certain, but it’s highly probable.”
“So then,” proclaimed Yurin, resuming his pacing, “rather than being the adored and pampered companion that she seemed, Marthe an Castre was actually a tightly guarded, high security prisoner whose disappearance would have led to the kind of search the Hathian resistance could least afford?”
“Yes,” confirmed Radcliff, warily on edge. He was beginning to sense the trend of an Begum's defense plan.
“Yet you still claim you loved the defendant. An unusual paradox, surely. You would imprison and pu
t at risk the life of, as it turned out, your wife?”
“I believed that to do otherwise would be to put at risk the lives of millions of my own people,” replied Hamon stiffly. “Marthe understood my reasons, if not agreeing with them. After all, she was in a similar position herself. No more would she have deliberately betrayed the resistance than I would have Earth,” he finished in quiet desperation, not sure if he could bear the intrusion into his private hell he felt coming. Marthe, he saw, had grown rigid, rising at one point as if to leave and then, recalling her situation, subsiding into her chair again.
“Let us further examine aspects of this kindly imprisonment.” Yurin was declaiming again to his audience, a slight sneer in the theatrical voice. “Immediately following her capture, Madame an Castre was confined to your quarters for interrogation. In the hope that the pleasure of her surroundings might trick her into letting down her guard, you said?”
Hamon nodded.
“Was this the only means that you used?”
“No.”
“Please explain,” requested Yurin politely.
“She was denied food or sleep for the first three days.”
“And did that succeed?”
“No.”
“So you decided you were mistaken, discarding further attempts at coercion and taking her for your companion instead? Or did you use further means to break her?”
Hamon paused, then continued reluctantly. His voice he kept rigidly unchanged. “She was exposed to a session of electroneural stimulation.”
“And the sensory illusion used?”
“Of being slowly threatened then engulfed by flames,” replied Hamon tightly.
“An unpleasant experience. Madame an Castre must have given you much useful information.”
“It failed. She told us nothing and became unconscious after a period.” Hamon held on grimly, withdrawing deep within the armor of his professionalism. Not once did he dare glance at Marthe or the onlookers, yet he couldn’t miss the growing tide of horror. Few on Hathe had suspected that this type of treatment had been meted out!
“And des Trurain? He made no objection to Marthe’s treatment?”
“They had no contact. I had told Marthe he’d been executed, due to her failure to talk. He was, at the time, confined in a prison cell where I interrogated him most days.”
“And did you employ similar tactics of persuasion with him?”
“No. Physical methods were used in his case,” said Hamon icily, challenging Yurin, or anyone else, to object.
Yurin allowed a pause to develop. His walk slowed, and he lifted one hand to his face, cupping his chin within its prop as he appeared to contemplate the witness’s words. When he judged his audience to have adequately digested the morsel, he moved back to the attack.
He dwelt but briefly on Hamon’s indisposition after the traumatic session, content to let it be passed over as a consequence of overwork. Then he moved on, to the peaceful calm of the following month before battle was again joined. Fortunately, some things even an Begum didn’t know.
“So, over the following weeks and despite your previous treatment of her, a relationship developed between you and the defendant. You became, in fact, lovers and the defendant fell pregnant. Was this a voluntary relationship on Madame an Castre’s part, or did you think she was but playing a role?”
“Both,” replied Hamon stiffly, very unwilling to talk about this but knowing he must. “Her public behavior was that of a sophisticated woman enjoying a casual liaison with a member of the current power bloc—a delightful and amusing companion.”
“And you did not accept that? It sounds very pleasant for you.”
“It was a front,” asserted Hamon harshly. “I had no proof, but I knew it to be so. The woman I loved was far superior; but to reveal that person would have been to reveal too much of the truth. We were both aware of this at all times.”
“If you knew it to be a front, weren’t you taking outrageous advantage of your position by indulging in a sexual relationship?”
“That is private to us, and none of your business!” snapped Hamon, leaning forward to glare his defiance. This he would not discuss.
Yurin returned the look fully. Then, seeming to pick up his message, he shrugged and changed tack. For some time, he dwelled on the various episodes of their shared life during the occupation: the wedding, Marthe’s falling out with his mother, his release of Jacquel into the Terran community, Hamon’s belief in the collusion between the two Hathians, and his increased mobilization of the special service troops, coupled with his frustration at his inability to take effective action. Always, Hamon could feel the growing anger in the crowded courtroom.
He would grant Radcliff courage, mused Yurin, to reply as he did knowing the effect it was having on his listeners. It didn’t stop the lawyer, pacing up and down as he demanded answers of his Terran victim.
“We come now to the final day of the occupation.”
Hamon straightened fractionally, relieved at the ordeal’s near conclusion, yet conscious of an uneasy dread.
“By this time,” said Yurin an Begum, “you were fully convinced that the defendant was a member of some kind of resistance organization, and that she and Jacquel des Trurain had been deliberately planted. That they were, in fact, working in collusion to manipulate the Terran forces for their own purposes.”
Hamon nodded.
“You loved yet mistrusted, your wife and were concerned at the probability of some imminent, anti-Terran event?”
Hamon again agreed.
“And Marthe? In what state was she?”
“She was worn out by the pregnancy and, as I later discovered, from working long hours for the Hathian forces. She was quite ill and causing me a great deal of worry.”
“Not sufficient it seems, to keep your distrust from her. Instead, you confined her to quarters and denied her the support of her only compatriot, des Trurain.”
“It was necessary. Their continued freedom would have posed too great a security risk.”
“And it was at this point that your technical officer made the breakthrough in his study of the Hathian patches, and requested your and Marthe’s assistance? When, despite her ill health, you forced her to help you further the Terran cause, though you have acknowledged that you knew her loyalties to be opposed to Earth?”
“It was necessary,” repeated Hamon. For the first time, a hint of desperation and the implacable hatred he felt for Hathe entered his voice. He couldn’t keep it out, and knew it wasn’t lost on the hostile crowd.
“So you chose to place your duty to your home planet before the well being of your wife?”
“Yes.”
“And this didn’t bother you? You felt no guilt?” asked Yurin in amazement.
“Of course it did. It bothered the hell out of me!”
“In a disgruntled mood, then, you brought Marthe to join Captain Braddock for this experiment—a success, as it turned out, despite your having to forcibly restrain the defendant during the procedure. What happened immediately after you picked up the Hathian broadcast?”
“I went to sound the alarm.”
“Did you succeed?”
“No.”
“Why not?” persisted an Begum.
For a minute, it seemed as if he had finally lost his courage. Then he clutched at his pride and forced his mouth open.
“My sick wife suddenly produced a blaster and fired at me.”
“And then?”
“She held us all at blaster-point until the Hathian resistance had completed its takeover of the planet.”
He had to check on her now. Marthe had turned a deathly white, gripping the side of her chair as if to silence the stream of questions pouring from an Begum’s mouth. He wished he could go to her, but had to content himself with a swift sideways look of reassurance.
“Did you make no attempt to disarm her?” continued the lawyer, regardless.
“I did at one stage attempt to re
ach the weapon I kept concealed on the inside of my tunic, but was prevented.” Yurin looked questioningly. “Marthe knew of it. She shot it away before I could touch it.”
Yurin again halted, the silence heavy in the room.
“If you could have got to that blaster,” he asked carefully, “what would you have done?”
“At that point…” parlayed Hamon desperately, knowing his face was almost as white as Marthe’s. He turned, looking directly at her for the first time.
“No…” she cried, trying vainly to rise against the bodies restraining her. It was only the fraught plea in the hard stare he sent her that made her sit down.
Hamon turned back to Yurin, lifting his chin in defiance.
“At that particular point in time, I would have shot the defendant.”
“To stun?”
“No, I had no time to adjust the weapon. No. I would have shot to kill.”
The words echoed through the room. A stunned silence fell. Not a single person disturbed the absolute stillness.
It lasted just long enough for des Trurain to scramble his forces then a violent babble of activity struck. A forward surging mass overwhelmed the barrier in front of Hamon before a defensive shield could be snapped into place, and frantically the security troops hustled Marthe and him out separate doors.
“Stop! Marthe… Let me get to her,” he pleaded, trying desperately to pull back from his surrounding guards.
“She’s safe. Our people have her away already,” hissed back Jacquel, “but she will stay safe only if you keep dead away from her. In case you hadn’t noticed, it’s your blood they’re after.”
He grabbed Hamon’s arm harder and hustled them towards the secured exit and the waiting vehicle outside. Hamon had time for only one, silent look back.
A surging volume of noise rolled over them as they raced down the hall. Voices yelled, and he could feel the upraised fists just behind, as the contained anger of five, misery-filled years finally found its embodiment in the person of one despised Terran. Though only a matter of minutes, it felt like forever before they burst through to clear air and hurried into the waiting door of the Hathian carrier. Almost before the last foot was within the threshold, the craft began to lift, racing for free space before the crowd behind could alert sympathizers to their flight.
Pay the Piper: Hathe Book Two Page 14