Riardan began to whimper, bringing startled, even disbelieving looks from those around her.
Good Heavens, do they have no children here? She shushed him gently, holding him close and letting the rhythm of her steps slowly rock him to sleep. Her frenetic restlessness had powered her forward, but now, she relaxed into the pace of the city—never a dawdle nor yet a race either, as though the populace paced itself to survive the place.
She began to look about her, leaving her direction to the whim of the crowd. For the first time since landing on Earth, she felt some of her inner tension seep away. She was free, and as safe here as anywhere. No Terran attacker could break the Hathian codes protecting her valuables or the weaponry she carried as a matter of course, while her body sensors would quickly warn her of trouble. Anyone trying to disrupt the protective field about Riardan would be in for a nasty shock. Her grin stretched wider, and then was internalized as she observed its unsettling effect on the few in the crowd who bothered to notice their fellow citizens.
She did, though, observe the labyrinth of life surrounding her. Deaf to their language, she would still have known them for Terrans. There was that same look in the eyes she had seen among the troops on Hathe, especially when they talked of home. Both listless despair and hopeless pride. Most unnerving of all was an almost total lack of curiosity: about her, their neighbors, even the weather in the sky above, every one of them set on their own path and oblivious of the others who shared the space with them. Was it fear or the only way to survive this oldest of human habitations?
Eons of human history had left their trace—a myriad of architectural styles patched together in a crazy quilt of different eras, stitched haphazardly one on top of another. Here, a fragment of intricate swirls, cut off mid-design by the cubist addition budding from the side of a large box that stretched to tower over its parent. The top had been lopped off, a coil of antennae and wires sprouting forth from an edifice built long before the technology which now inhabited it and to which it must adapt.
Over it all sprouted the most bizarre element of the crazy match-ups. Greenery, richly vibrant with life and sprawling in every available nook and cranny—window boxes, roof gardens, planters in the street. In any spot begging for dirt to settle, the natural world had invaded. In this world of people who seemed to have forgotten that blood flowed in their veins, plant life burst forth in vigorous abandon. Some of it even seemed to have been cultivated, placed deliberately in all its riotous profusion. That was another jarring element. All the plantings, even the smallest, sang with variety and color, a beguiling multiplicity such as she had never imagined.
It did not fit.
The buildings were unloved, rarely showing any harmony in their patchwork mixes, while sprawling over them, the plants came together in a living symphony. She rounded a corner and found an exquisite park—wide open spaces exactly designed for strolling and studded with the huge plants they called trees, their solid trunks reaching into the papery floss of the canopy above. Why, in this world of insufficiency and strife, such a beautiful place had survived, she was unable to say. But survive it had, and thank God. Something flashed in her head then, a wistful line she had once heard Hamon mutter.
“There is so much to love,” he had said, angry and defensive. Yet he had also told her, frequently, of Earth’s killing lack of resources, its inability to feed its population. Here she saw it confirmed in the pinched hunger of Earth’s ordinary classes, carved into the faces of people wandering uncaring through nature’s opulence. All at once, a fathomless gulf of incomprehensibility yawned in front of her. So much richness in the depths of such need. Never would Hathe have tolerated it. Nor, maybe, could she. She stood outside the park, staring.
Abruptly, her foot swung round of its own accord and she strode blindly back the way she’d come. Wrongness breathed from everything around her. Urgently she fled, unaware of her direction and badly needing the stark monotony of her room, the barren Earth of her expectations. Confused and clutching the stirring baby in his sling, she for once failed to notice her surroundings. Riardan grizzled and she automatically rocked him.
Her frantic pace was carrying her into a new area. The greenery was still with her, but wilder. Here and there lay marks of violence upon leaves and trunks. The buildings were more decayed than ever, the litter denser and the faces of the people wore the desperate bravado of failing hope.
These things she noted only subconsciously. She strode on, fitfully hurrying, every now and then slowing, as she gazed upwards seeking some hidden signpost. Jolted awake by the urgent haste, Riardan began to grizzle. His sturdy little body wriggled about and forced her to pay attention, his head now able to lift and seek the threat he sensed in the tension of his mother’s body. Finally, fully awake, his grizzle became a full cry. All around, heads turned at the sound, many in stunned disgust. Also, here and there, was a quickly shuttered look of wistfulness on a woman’s face.
She slowed, bringing him up to let him see her face and gently rubbing his back in soothing comfort. “Shush, shush, little bumpkin.” Silly words, repeated over and over. He subsided, but didn’t fully relax. The tone of the words couldn’t give the lie to the signals coming from her body as, brought to full awareness of her surroundings, Marthe’s well honed senses shrieked a warning.
The crowd was sparser here. It was clearly not a major thoroughfare. Though she was dressed in Terran clothing, her difference from these people was starkly obvious. More and more faces turned towards her, slowly gathering into a small mob. There was hostility here, both to her affluence and, terrifyingly, to Riardan, clutched protectively to her chest. Then it came to her, what she should have noticed earlier. Children! There were none. Certainly not playing in these streets—a few only back at the park and closely guarded by their accompanying adults, said her memory, replaying the scene.
Automatically, she moved back towards a solid wall, her training taking over as the crowd surrounded her. Her one advantage: these people would know nothing of the kind of weaponry she carried. Would it give her the time she needed for help to arrive? She urgently signaled Alliance headquarters.
“Don’t worry, little one,” she whispered to the now unnaturally quiet child. A cold grin twitched her lips and she felt again the adrenalin surge that had been her frequent companion for five years. Soon, soon, the closer ones would be within range.
“Outa yore territory, ain’t ya?” came the guttural Terran. She knew the language, but barely understood these people’s version.
“Whatcha got there?” shot another angry voice.
“It’s a brat, that’s what it is!”
“So?” she retorted, sparking something in the eyes before her.
“One more rich brat over quota, to take the food from our bellies, eh?”
“How much did you bribe the gyneys?”
The taunting grew and her stance fell into high readiness. Closer they came, the voices growing louder and shriller. It was Riardan who angered them, his presence alone. For the first time, a special fear entered her. She may survive, but if she failed, he certainly would not.
They were within her perimeter now. In her hand suddenly appeared a blaster, firing out a warning shot. A singeing smell assaulted her nostrils and one man began to babble in shrieking discord. The onward surge halted in stunned dismay. For moments, there was an uneasy stillness.
“Hey, who you think you is? Some crazy police person? Know how to use that thing, you reckon?”
“Come any closer and you’ll find out. I know how to use this one too.” A second weapon appeared in her other hand.
The hostility lessened not a jot, but the forward creep of her assailants stopped in one simultaneous jolt. Angry eyes raked her, probing to see how much was bluff and how much expertise.
“Funny little plastic toy, that whatcha got there?”
“Come a step closer and you’ll find out exactly what it can do. I swear that you will feel enough pain before the end to know all a
bout it, too.”
The coldness of her voice they clearly recognized. The voice of unfeeling authority; but she so clearly jarred with their usual order that she wasn’t sure they believed her.
“Jake, you ever see anything like that?”
All eyes turned to one man—tall, with a jagged scar angling from the bridge of his nose down across the pocked cheek. She could see the dry, sallowness of his childhood poverty etched into his skin. From the expectancy hanging on his searching stare, he must be what passed for a weaponry expert round here. After a while, he turned to his fellows.
“Nope,” was the single, gravelly reply.
“Think it’s fake, you reckon?”
An exultant voice began to inch closer. Her fire swiftly drew a thin, burning line up one leg and across the edge of the speaker’s abdomen. There was a shocked howl and he crumpled, clutching the glowing flesh in agony.
“That’s the lowest setting. Care to see a higher capacity,” she taunted.
“You been off-world trading,” the one named Jake stated rather than asked. “It’ll be faulty. The grey suits would have made sure of it.”
“Not this one. They can’t touch it, and I service-checked it myself only this morning. Believe me, it’s in full working order, and I know exactly how to use it.”
For the first time, she allowed a little of her natural accent into her speech. She saw the indolent confidence of the one they called Jake slip. Then, remembering his position, he shrugged defiantly and glared at her.
“Just who is you supposed to be then? No off-worlder would come snooping round here. Terran authorities ain’t stupid enough to let the wierdies nose about on their own.”
“They didn’t have much say,” she boasted back, “and I’m not occupying forces. My partner’s Terran. I’m not,” she added, the threat clearly audible. “You can also tell your friends who are trying to get the drop on me from up on that building that if they don’t retreat, now, I have some nasty surprises waiting.” She simultaneously felled two who had crept up under cover of the sidewalls, thinking uneasily how close they had managed to get before her sensors picked them up.
“You got some pretty good toys there.”
“Don’t even think about trying to get them. Even if you could take them, they are personalized to me only. There’s no way you can fire them. Only my own people can tell you how to do that, and I don’t think the Hathian authorities are about to help any Terrans, low-life or otherwise.”
A rumble rose through the crowd.
“Hathian!”
“You’re one of those?”
“Lady, get out. Now!” The last, angry command was from Jake, legs splayed and hands belligerently hooked into the belt of his overalls.
“Unless I mistake the matter, that’s just what I’m about to do,” she grinned back, in dawning recognition of mutual respect. As the crowd began to quickly scatter, a buzz of flyers dropped in a protective perimeter around her. Jake was the last to turn and, as he was about to go, she called out to him.
“Good luck, but don’t think we’ll be too easy to be rid of. Having just spent five years throwing your lot out, we’re pretty set on not having you back, even if it means having to watch every one of you from now to doomsday. But have a go anyway.”
Jake turned back angrily, then must have seen the irony of the situation. “That’s just what we intend to do, lady.”
As the first of the flyers hit the ground, he melted with the rest of his fellows into the maze of surrounding streets. Soon, a buzz of officialdom surrounded her. The very efficient-looking city police fanned out to establish a safe zone as her Terran hosts, watched frowningly by a cohort of Alliance troops, hustled her into a nearby flyer. She’d returned her weapons to their concealing pouches as soon as the crowd began to disperse, and the hand signal she threw the accompanying Hathian official ensured that the Terrans’ bombastic questions were quickly silenced. It was unfortunate that she’d been forced to reveal her weapons, but it wasn’t as if the Terrans would be able to use them if they’d managed to take them from her.
Still, as she climbed into the flyer, she threw a not unsympathetic glance towards where the Terran mob had been. A small part of her truly wished the man well.
After all, she knew exactly how he felt.
Within a very short time, sympathy for any Terran was wiped completely. Returning to Alliance Central, she walked straight into the midst of a diplomatic row with what she could only term the thwarted bureaucracy of this hidebound world. The little man now in front of her seemed to regard her as some lesser species of noxious pest, giving her looks at once anxious and filled with loathing while he was forced to listen to the Hathian head of the Alliance forces stationed on Earth.
“Madame an Castre is highly regarded by my government. To find that Terran stalling of her perfectly legitimate request for residence has led to her life being placed in needless jeopardy is something we view very seriously. Either Earth does or does not wish to be seen as cooperative by the Alliance; or could it be that our aid is no longer necessary?”
The bureaucrat stifled a glare, reminded by his stomach of what, precisely, this offworlder threatened.
“As you seem unable to act according to accepted protocol, Madame an Castre is henceforth to be considered an official member of the Alliance presence here, with all the resources that implies. Her movements are, therefore, of no concern to Terran officials. You will render her any assistance she may require. You will also be fully answerable to the Alliance for any harm that may befall her.”
There was a gritty edge of anger in the Hathian's voice, and Marthe could almost see the ruffling of Terran pride. It was amusing, and satisfying to watch, but she couldn’t feel it to be particularly wise. With a curt nod, the Terran official was dismissed. As soon as he’d left, Marthe turned to her fellow Hathian.
“I’m sorry to have put you in such an embarrassing position, Representative an Truro.”
“Not at all.” But his words were belied by his suddenly somber tone. “It seems, though, that the time for softly, softly is fading fast. I must admit that I’ve been looking forward to giving that particular, little worm a shove into place since I first landed.” He paused then, turning to face her squarely. “What I would really like to know is, who is pulling his strings. Your treatment so far has been too deliberately boorish and provocative to be mere bureaucratic pen pushing.”
Marthe frowned. “You think they were hoping for just such an incident?”
“Uh-huh. Though I doubt they wished for such a peaceful outcome. We may have beaten them today, but I think you better keep your wits about you in future.”
“It wasn’t a total failure on their part,” admitted Marthe. “I was forced to reveal that Alliance personnel carry weaponry unknown on Earth—stuff they would like very much to own.”
“Are you carrying anything with a high security listing?”
“No, and what I do have is personal-coded. They can’t touch any of it. Which doesn’t mean I would be happy if Terran forces, legit or otherwise, got hold of them.”
“Then you’d better be careful, hadn’t you?” An Truro fell silent a minute, looking slightly uncomfortable for the first time. He leaned back in his seat and eyes her squarely. “And Radcliff? What about him?”
Marthe refused to show how the words affected her. It helped that she was still buoyed by the triumph over Terran malice. “You mean, is he for or against us, and would he like to get hold of such weapons?” An Truro nodded. “For the first, I don’t know. As for the second,” she grinned, “you can pretty well guarantee it.”
“So why are you taking them in with you?”
“Because there is no way I am letting go of just one device that might mean the difference between saving Riardan or losing him.”
She meant it and an Truro got the message, wisely refraining from further argument. “Good luck then, and the stars speed your voyage.”
He smiled politely as he
rose then paused halfway up. Slowly, he straightened to his full height. Almost with a hint of an apology.
“No,” cut in Marthe sharply. There was a persistent look on an Truro's face. “No,” cried Marthe even louder, standing up so suddenly that her chair crashed to the floor as she took a defensive step back.
“But he might be—”
“I don’t care,” she broke in angrily. “For all I know, Hamon could be the leader of whole armies of resistance troops. I will not spy on him!”
“And if he is, and succeeds? He could threaten Hathe again,” continued an Truro doggedly. She stepped back again, desperate to avoid this.
“Haven’t I done enough for Hathe? It’s time for someone else.” She stopped, then cried out as if the words were wrung from her. “There’s not enough of me left.”
It was too much. Tears starting in her eyes, she pushed past her tormentor and ran from the room, crashing her hand on the palm plate so hard it left a red, stinging tingle.
An Truro watched her go, a hard grimace on his lips.
“I’m sorry, so sorry, my lady, but there is no one else. And you will do your duty. You can’t escape it, ever,” he finished softly, staring long at the door, before turning to complete his perusal of the file begun before this meeting interrupted him. His lips twitched, reading the two names on the heading. An Radcliff and an Castre. She was right; so much had been asked of her. But there was more there yet.
Pay the Piper: Hathe Book Two Page 16