Pay the Piper: Hathe Book Two

by Mary Brock Jones

  “Marthe? Where have you taken her?” begged Hamon yet again.

  No one answered; then des Trurain looked up from the console he’d been studying intently. “It’s all right. They got her away, with no followers. Everyone was far too interested in stopping you to notice her. She’s in a place of safety and will rejoin Riardan in a few hours. When things have died down somewhat.”

  Hamon caught the ‘but’ in his voice.

  “And me?” he asked bitterly.

  “You are en route to Earth. The Council has decreed that your presence is no longer acceptable on Hathe. You are to be conveyed home in all haste.”

  “I see.”

  He turned to stare out the window at the rapidly receding planet—a sight he’d longed for. Now, it only filled him with gall.

  Hamon spoke no more on that trip, except briefly when they stopped at Riardan's refuge, a closely guarded military satellite. In secretly joyous relief, he was able to hold his son again. Quietly, he soaked in every feature of the tiny face, seeing the hints of both himself and Marthe just beginning to appear. For a precious time, he was left alone. Then des Trurain joined him.

  The Hathian stopped awkwardly, seeing the two of them together, then coughed discreetly. “Your ship must leave now if you’re to make the Earth connection. I’ll take Riardan back to Ruthie if you like, and Marthe will be with him in a few hours.”

  Radcliff continued to stare at his son, not ready yet to lose him. Then he turned and looked up.

  “And what then? Where is Marthe to go?”

  “I don’t know. She’s to be expelled from Hathe for the time being, but will be fully supported and cared for financially, whatever she chooses.”

  “Which will not be with me, you hope.”

  “Can you doubt it?” said Jacquel, but, unexpectedly, there was sympathy there amid the residue of hate.

  “You’re probably right,” said Hamon. “Just as, I suppose, to you I deserve what happened down there today.”

  He turned away in mute contemplation of the view, hugging his son to his body. A soft shuffle and a half cough was Jacquel’s reminder of his presence and the waiting ship, Hamon turned back and slowly passed the baby over.

  “She never had a chance to choose, did she?” he said inconsequentially. “And yes, technically, you’re right. She would be better off without me. She could return home?”

  Jacquel nodded. Hamon then passed over a crumpled sliver of tape.

  “I was going to attach this to Riardan’s clothes, but perhaps you’d better have it. It’s my contact code on Earth. She can always find me or get a message to me through that. Keep it safe, and give her time to choose. Only promise to abide by her choice, no matter your feelings.”

  Jacquel nodded again, took the sliver, and left. Hamon swung violently from the sight, turning to stare blindly at the view of planet Hathe below. Soon to recede from his sight completely, a final and complete farewell.

  Chapter Ten

  The room was strewn with people—too many people. Jacquel hated it but knew he couldn’t leave. They sat, stood or paced in brittle silence. There was a sound outside and someone jumped to standing then sat again. They were waiting, had been so for some time, and the strain of it hung in the air.

  In the main chair sat Councilor an Castre and, beside him, his elder daughter and son-in-law with their twins, who slept the innocent sleep of the very young—the only relaxed ones in the room. Laren was fitfully pleating her gown, echoing her sister’s quirk in a time of trouble. Standing behind her, Jorven stared disconsolately into space, turning from time to time to speak to his wife, or to take her hand comfortingly in his.

  On Dr an Castres’ other side sat the gentle, reassuring presence of another Council stalwart, Gilda an Rathman. A widow herself, she’d been a close friend of Sylvan’s wife and was now a welcome support in this hour of need. Yurin an Begum was also there, outwardly collected and chatting lightly with Jorven. Ranging around the perimeter of the group strode Jacquel, haggard with impatience. He’d tried sitting with the others. He couldn’t. Where was she?

  Then the door slid open. A woman entered, baby clutched to her breast. She halted anxiously, hovering half in and half out as the door attempted to close behind her.

  “Marthe!”

  “Where have you been?”

  “We’ve been worried sick!”

  “Why didn’t you at least let us know you were safe?”

  For an instant, the hunted look on her face said that the issue was in doubt: stay or leave. Then her chin rose with the courage he had seen her call on so often before, and she walked into the room.

  “Sit down. Here.” It was her father, the command in his voice undeniable, despite the quivering of relief. He held out his arms for his grandson, but desisted when he saw how tightly she clutched the baby. Instead he reached for, and was quickly passed, a warm drink. Only when Marthe had begun to sip slowly from the mug did he resume his questions.

  “Can you tell us where you’ve been?”

  “Traveling,” she said quietly, staring down into her drink.

  “Where? On Hathe? Impossible,” broke in Jacquel, ignoring her father’s glare. “I sent out every kind of tracer imaginable and nothing could pick you up.

  “I’ve spent five years avoiding such things. Why should you think they could trap me now?” She was still quiet, but he heard the hint of fiery despair. “I just wanted to say goodbye to it all,” she explained, turning to her father. “This is my home, remember.”

  “I know, love,” said her sister. “We were just worried. You didn’t even stay for the verdict.”

  “I couldn’t. Could not stand there and be forced to watch their faces.”

  “But you were found innocent, fully exonerated,” her father expostulated.

  “Yes, it was on all the broadcast channels. All I can say is that it’s lucky I wasn’t recognized that day. The public were not happy.”

  She lapsed into bitter silence, but was brought back to an awareness of their presence by a careful clearing of a throat. “Did you hear the full findings?” asked Yurin.

  “You mean, do I know I have four hours to leave the planet, or be forcibly expelled without any means of support,” she shot back, abandoning her listless wariness. “That’s why I’m here. To say goodbye.” She looked up, swiftly encompassing them in her searing gaze, all the sorrow and bitter defiance in her soul there to see. “Riardan had a right to see it, just this once, even if he can never remember it. Hathe is so beautiful.”

  For a few brief moments longer, she let them see it, the angry pain shining through her, then her mask was back. “One day, I will talk to him about the planet of his birth. Now, I can at least say he’s been there and tell him of this journey.”

  “You’re going to abide by the Council’s decree then?”

  It was a simple enough question, but Jacquel saw by her look of comprehension that she understood the layers hiding beneath as well as he did. “Of course. What other choice have I?” She put the mug down and folded her hands in her lap with determination. “I did not give five years of my life to have all we achieved put at risk—especially by me. The plain truth is, Hathe can’t cope with me at the moment. There is too much rebuilding to be done.”

  A living strength was back in her voice. All in the room had known her since babyhood and Jacquel could see them straightening, alert. She had come to the real purpose of the visit, the reason she had called them here today.

  “Have any of you talked to the children of the occupation? The ones who can remember no other world than one ruled by Terrans? Have you seen the shock in their eyes? That’s what Hathe should be focusing on now, not this tawdry scandal of mine!”

  “You were never that,” protested Laren.

  “No? No matter. Madame Gilda, you can help them. I have to leave, but promise me you will organize something. I’ve seen them, seen their bewilderment. “She took a breath, took each of them in to her memories as her gaze
swept the room. “That’s what I’ve been doing these last weeks. Wandering across the planet, one more dirtsider trying to find a place to belong. They are everywhere, people who spent five years posing as members of a menial, poorly educated sub-class and are now trapped in the role. No one seems to be doing anything to rehabilitate them or restore them to their old positions. They have been grabbed already by those who were based off-planet. The moonsiders have modern skills, you see, and can slip into the jobs easily. Some of them even seem to think that the dirtsiders really are the lowly peasants they once pretended to be, and treat them as badly as ever the Terrans did.”

  “I know. I’ve seen it too,” said Gilda in a quiet voice. “We never expected it, so stupid of us; and there were no contingency plans ready. But programs are being developed now.”

  Marthe grunted in disgust. “There were plans for everything else. Why not this? They were so brave, so steadfast. I don’t think you can have had any idea, up there on Mathe. It was such a long time down here. For the children, a lifetime. You must promise me to fix it.”

  Her eyes caught the older woman’s with a painful intensity. Gilda returned the look in full. She nodded.

  “I promise,” she said.

  Marthe seemed to relax, slumping back in her chair and cradling Riardan closer. “Thank you. It helps. Makes it all feel a bit less worthless. I looked everywhere, you see, and could find so few traces of our old Hathe. We worked so hard to bring it back, and you can’t, can you?”

  No one protested her words. There was nothing that could gainsay the bitter finality in them.

  She did not add to it. Finally, her father could put the question they had all been waiting to ask since she walked into the room. “When you leave, do you know where you’re going?”

  Marthe’s head shot up, surprise and a defensive anger in her gaze. “To Earth, of course. I have a husband waiting for me, and Riardan a father.” A hard-edged glint appeared in her eye. Jacquel recognized it, and knew too well the determination it boded.

  “But you don’t even know how to find the man,” her father exclaimed.

  “No, but I will. Jacquel, you have something for me?”

  She turned full on to him. Jacquel reluctantly put his hand into his inner pouch, withdrawing a thin sliver of tape and passing it to her.

  “He said you deserved the chance to make your own choice, but made me promise to abide by your decision. His directions are there.”

  Marthe took the outstretched sliver, clutching it convulsively.

  “Thank you,” was all she could say. Suddenly, she clung briefly to each one gathered there, then flung herself out the door. Those left could only stare as it closed behind her.

  She was gone.

  Chapter Eleven

  Word of her coming had gone before her: to the way stations en route, to the crews of the transit ships, to the Alliance staff based on Earth. She was repeatedly faced with it throughout the three weeks of her journey.

  There were four way stations in all, and the feeling on the most distant was the same as on the first. Beneath the official discretion and smooth oiling of her passage, came always that hint of recoil from the staff who must deal with her. No matter how they tried to hide it, she could see it in that first, unguarded instant, before the lines on the faces slid back into a smooth bureaucracy. Even at the last station, closest to Earth and heavily dependent on that planet for its transit business, she felt the stigma of the outcast. Traitoress. The word might as well have been branded on her forehead.

  “This way,” waved the official. A Terran, yet like all the rest he stayed just that bit farther from her than was normal. He pointed to the passage leading to the Earth shuttle bay, and it was with relief that she saw a Hathian courier materialize from a side room.

  It was also a signal. One last and final duty owed before she embraced this new life of exile. Slowly, she came to a halt and turned towards Ruthie, faithfully by her side and carrying the sleeping Riardan. Marthe held out her hands for the baby.

  “This is as far as you go, Ruthie. I cannot and will not ask you to go farther.”

  The Hathian woman stopped, her face falling into a fathomless dilemma. There was both unexpected grief and a sense of reprieve caught there. The usually self-contained face stared down at the sleeping child.

  “I know you suffered under the occupation, Ruthie, and I have been more grateful than you can know for your tolerance of our unusual family; but can you maintain it on Earth? It’s more than anyone should ask of you. Nor do I know how safe you would be.”

  The older woman nodded slowly, gently cradling the baby deep into her shoulder. The look she sent him was a very private one. Slowly, reluctantly, she passed the child over to Marthe.

  “Take care,” Ruthie whispered, one last finger lingering over the soft cheek. She lifted her eyes to Marthe. “For all your sorrows, you are aye a lucky woman.” It was a blessing and a farewell. As a bright blush suddenly heated Marthe’s cheeks, Ruthie turned and was comfortingly received by the station official. Marthe stared after the solid back, feeling as if her last bulwark had disappeared yet curiously buoyed by the woman’s words.

  She too turned, but in the opposite direction. Suddenly granted hope, she followed the Hathian official onto the Terran shuttle. She had forgotten what Earth held. Not exile, but the promise of life with her family. Life with Hamon.

  She held grimly to that thought through all the buffeting and chaos of arrival. She had sent no word to Hamon and had forbidden any warning of her coming to precede her. So now she must face the harsh reality of his world without him. Never had she seen so many people, all hectically pursuing their own lives. She had lived in cities on and off all her life, but none like this.

  It wasn’t just the sheer mass of people, though that was overwhelming in itself. More than once, she clutched tightly to Riardan and hunched against her Hathian courier, wary of being forced into the stream or losing her baby. But no, more than that was the dirt, the soulless decay. Rubbish sprawled along walkways, carelessly fluttering about unconcerned legs. Railways and buildings wore the chips and rubbings of innumerable hands brushing past, with little sign of any regular maintenance. Or maybe, she conceded, they couldn’t afford to waste resources on such trivialities.

  The hostel to which she was assigned was more familiar. It had the utilitarian feel of the Terran quarters on Hathe—stark and with all the essentials, but lacking that spark of life she had taken for granted all her days.

  As she waited interminably for the bureaucrats to process and approve her residential application, despite its having been lodged long before her arrival, she wondered how Hamon could have sprung from such an environment. Was there a parallel world of the privileged, as like this one as night to day? Or was it something in the man himself? Whatever, he didn’t belong in this place she must now inhabit, and could never have done.

  Four days passed and still she lay in her hostel room. Ten paces by eight. She had measured it often enough. Riardan was asleep in the hastily converted box they had brought her. She hadn’t dared to ask what it had been used for previously, but with a durafoam pad, some blankets she had brought with her, and the gay decorations that had adorned his cot in his first days, she hoped he wasn’t as aware as she of the gloomy strangeness of their surroundings.

  The walls were nauseously bland, their mustard green obviously a mixture of all the colors left at the end of a run and used up on the cheap. After all, it’s only for foreigners, she could hear the contractor say. The hostel was government accommodation, set aside for officials and visitors such as herself—those the administration was not troubled with impressing. She’d enquired about a private hotel and, yes, such were found on Earth, but security concerns ruled one out for her, or so she was told.

  Staring at the encircling barrenness—that is, if you ignored the cheap hologram on the wall, and she usually tried to—she became possessed by a conviction that her placement here was deliberate, a punishm
ent for past wrongs. Someone had decided she was in need of time spent mortifying the soul. Terran or Hathian? Either seemed possible.

  In actual fact, she thought crossly, her soul had already had its lifetime share of mortification, and it appeared more was to come if what she’d seen of Earth so far was any indication.

  A bright spark of anger flared deep inside her. She leaned back in her seat, grunting disgustedly at its unyielding discomfort, and stretched out her legs, feet crossed at the ankles. Her fingers twined thoughtfully in her lap and her chin jutted belligerently forwards. If she had been prone to paranoia, she might almost imagine a conspiracy to force her to acknowledge the error of her ways and bring her, abjectly apologetic, back home.

  Even if that were the case, did it really matter? It was not as if she couldn’t end the whole charade at any time. One call was all that was needed. She had full confidence in Hamon’s ability to send this bureaucratic nonsense scurrying back into its mean and stingy hole. But that was an escape she refused to consider. That was not how she would come to him, not surrounded by the political baggage train that would ensue, with all its layers of implications.

  After two more days of being stuck in a room with a grizzly baby and a decided lack of news, her resolve had weakened badly. Why had she released Ruthie so nobly? She jumped up, overwhelmed by frustration. Surprising the baby, restlessly tossing in his box, she snatched him up, wrapped him securely in his walking sling and palmed the door to exit. Ignoring the frantic “Hey” from the corridor porter, she swung round the nearest corner and slipped out the side entrance before her ‘hosts’ could realize she’d stirred. She pulled her overcloak forward about her body to conceal the lump of the child and strode quickly down the street. A mischievous grin lit her face. Thank the stars for the automatic habits of training that made her always find the alternate exits to any place she was in. She ducked down another street, swerving and weaving about the blocks to lose any possible pursuit. Just for once, she would face this world unfettered by the intentions of her minders. It must have some redeeming features, she thought, forcing her way against the masses blocking the walkways. She soon realized there was no point trying that and turned to let the flow of humanity take her where it would.