Marthe cleared the building, remembered her changed status, turned and strode back in, all in a haze of tears and desperate anger. Brusquely, she coded for her new quarters, ordered her luggage transferred and headed for the lift, striding so fast that she woke Riardan and he let out an angry squawk. She’d been forced to take him with her to that foul interview, too fearful of his safety to leave him for even a few seconds. Torn by inner storms, she hurried down the maze of corridors to the rooms assigned her, frantically avoiding any eye contact that might stop her. After an age of need, she finally palmed a door that answered her summons and stumbled into the offered sanctuary.
It was marginally less stark than her previous quarters. The colors of this room had been chosen with an aim to please. It was irrelevant. She threw herself into a cube and hurriedly brought Riardan around, latching him onto the nourishment he sought. She so needed the comfort of his contented suckling.
“Hamon, where are you,” she sighed softly. “Oh, little one. Where is your father now? Stars, but we need him.”
Some time later, the baby replete and dozing in her lap with only the odd smacking of lips, she gazed thoughtfully into space. How to do it, was her constant thought. How to rejoin Hamon without destroying what they had with all the complications that still lay between them—all the enmity and brutality of the past. They so needed a chance to see whether what they had was true, not some figment of wistfulness or fragment of guilt left over from the war. Did she truly believe that was all it was? No, but did he? Or maybe it was only that she wanted one last time together, before either his loyalties or hers parted them forever.
Certainly there must be no others present when they met. No Terran bureaucrats, watching suspiciously to see whether he showed too much pleasure at the sight of her and, just as certainly, none of her own, marking her with the indelible stain of ‘spy’ from which she had just fled so precipitously.
Gently, her fingers disengaged the baby, mopping the little driblet of milk clinging to the outer corner of the pursed up mouth and reaching up to trace the hint of eyebrows, so like the line of his father’s. Then she remembered. They were like his grandmother’s too. An ironic smile hovered on her lips and she put up a hand to smooth her hair. Then she turned to the vidphone.
Two hours later, her preparations were complete. Riardan was wrapped close in his cot and she was dressed once more in the manner of her homeland, a light upper tunic thrown over close-fitting trousers. It was not outlandishly different from Terran styles, but enough to clearly mark her origin. There was only so much she would concede to this woman, the love they both bore her son their only bond. So far.
The raised eyebrow of her visitor at the sight of her dress said the message was received, but Marthe chose not to comment, confining herself to a polite greeting. “Madame MacDiarmid. Thank you for coming. I am sure you have much to otherwise occupy you.” Despite herself, Marthe couldn’t banish her stilted reserve.
“Not as much as I used to,” replied Madame MacDiarmid, her own reserve diplomatically set aside. “And certainly nothing as important as my first grandchild. I suppose, like most young men, he’s asleep just when he’s needed?”
Marthe smiled in return, grateful for the offered token. “Over here in his cot. He’s due to wake soon, so don’t worry about disturbing him.”
“I wouldn’t dream of doing any such thing. Not if he’s like his father. That boy would never go to sleep!”
She stepped softly over, then gave a quick gasp and stared hungrily at the sleeping baby. To her amazement, Marthe caught a glimpse of a tear at the corner of the older woman’s eye, and the smile the Administrator turned on her was definitely lop-sided.
“He is … so like his father. Thank you, my dear.” One of the older woman’s hands reached carefully out to lightly run her fingertips over the little bundle. “Hamon used to hold his hands just like that when he was sleeping. It was the only time he was still,” she added as the ghost of old memories washed over her face. Of a sudden, a slight shrug shook her frame, and she moved to seat herself with deliberation in the only other cube in the small room. She quietly crossed her hands in her lap then looked up, a hint of amusement in her eyes.
“Now, my dear, perhaps you would care to explain exactly what it is you wish me to do for you?” She ignored Marthe’s assumed air of surprise. “You’ve been here for some days already, and now you decide to call me before you contact Hamon. Why?”
“So you knew I’d arrived?”
“I’m not totally devoid of contacts—who all warned me rather strenuously against informing Hamon of it, I might add. Still, I’m surprised that he hasn’t discovered your presence himself.”
“His surveillance methods are as good as ever?” Marthe broke into a real smile then was stopped by the stiffening of her guest. “That wasn’t prying, in case you’re wondering. This is pure family.”
“You expect me to believe that you have no professional interest in what my son may or may not be doing?”
“No, of course I don’t. Hamon openly admitted he was undecided as to what he intended on his return. He equally knows that I am fully committed to ensuring that never again does Hathe suffer a repeat of the last five years; but I didn’t ask you here to play politics.” She paused, unable to see a way forwards. “I need to see Hamon, but I don’t want him to be expecting me. To do that, I need your help. I can’t get past whatever security systems he has, but I think you can.”
“Again, I ask why.” Distrust spoke in every line of Madame MacDiarmid’s body.
“I’m not planning to harm him,” promised Marthe, a hint of weariness entering her voice. “This is solely for Riardan and me. I need us to be a family, and I need to find out if that’s what Hamon wants too. I can’t do that if he’s forewarned and watched, by his side or mine. He can hide what he really feels better than anyone I know. I need to see him on his own, just the two of us. To find out if there’s a chance for us, that’s all I ask.”
Hamon’s mother stared uncompromisingly back.
“Please,” begged Marthe, a desperate anxiety treading the lines of her forehead. “I do love him. I need him so very, very badly.” But she saw only defeat. She stood up and turned towards the cot. Tired beyond memory, she stared down at her son’s face then, hearing no reply, turned back.
“Thank you for coming,” she said in a flat voice, before moving over to palm the door. The older woman stood, but made no further move.
“I will help you, girl. If only so that I may have the pleasure of being able to watch a baby grow without endlessly worrying about the drain on resources,” she said, speaking carefully; “but may your divinity help you if you betray me or mine.”
Which was how Marthe came to be standing on a strange hillside, in the midst of a wilderness such as she’d never dreamed possible on Earth, peering down the path leading to the house. Madame MacDiarmid had brought them here in her own vehicle. The only way, she claimed, to ensure that Hamon would be unaware of her arrival. Some distance out, she’d locked into his security system, overriding the warning signal. Hamon was down there and, as yet, did not know Marthe was near.
“You’ll have to walk from here,” said his mother. “It’s the only unguarded route in. There’s a small hut up here he often visits, so this track is covered by the house security. I’ve blocked that and the only other way to get to this peak is by flyer. You have the advantage of surprise you asked for. Your path lies ahead of you.”
The older woman had paused then, all her distrust showing on her face. She had seemed to be about to add something further, but had instead turned, her mouth suddenly snapped shut, and entered her flyer. A whoosh of air and it was gone. They were alone, Riardan and she. At last.
Indecision hit, wrapping her in a fog. She could go back, to safety and to her beloved Hathe. Then she glanced down at the baby staring quizzically back. His little eyes scanned her face, drinking in the safe haven of her presence. A grin tugged at her mouth as she stared back. No, sh
e couldn’t leave now.
She looked down the track.
It was a long, low house, melded into the slope of the hill. From this angle, it was barely visible—a dark smudge on the slope as the eye was drawn past to the world beyond. From the front, there would be a stunning panorama.
Surrounding the house, enclosing and protecting it, were trees—trees of every size, shape and shade of green. Large ones in the distance and small, friendly neighbors close in, bearing fruits or the last, lingering blossoms of spring. The music of birds rose on all sides, ceasing as she walked forward, buzzing into life again once she’d passed.
Reluctant now, she forced herself to continue. She’d made this choice so easily at first, knowing no other course was possible … but that had been on her home ground. Here, it was different. So beautiful, but so strange. The wildness she recognized—the sense of space and freedom and the oneness with the world of the house merging into its majestic surroundings—but the nature of that world was unfamiliar, the trees unknown and the songs of the wildlife strange. She had seen odd, chaotic hints of this on her journey—the parks hiding among buildings and the brazen greenery infesting the city, but nothing like the beauty that now assaulted her, increasing with each step she trod so deliberately down this roadway. Even the path was a revelation, the scrunching of the gravel an anachronism in this world of industrial overuse. She had heard rumors of places such as this—glorious remnants of what had been, what might have been—but to have to enter and become a part of one was more intimidating than she could have dreamed possible.
The house was now in front of her. She stopped, hesitant. Even this close, the house still felt closed to her. This wasn’t a part used by the inhabitants. To one side, she saw a landing pad and a broad path winding down to it. It was an entrance only, then, with a sense of more beyond—a corridor to the private world at the front.
She gave herself a quick shake, her chin jutting defiantly upwards. Then she marched those last, few paces forward and rammed her finger against the old-fashioned door chime, squaring her shoulders in preparation. Riardan stared up at her in surprise, his eyes blinking and the little mouth a wide exclamation as he clutched onto the comfort of his sling.
She waited, bearing up at first, but gradually realized there would be no opening door. Anger dawned, all her fears, her anxieties, still to be unsatisfied. Impatient now, she repeatedly jabbed at the bell, rapping a sharp staccato on the door for good measure, then stepped back to await developments.
Nothing. The door remained resolutely shut. Frustrated, she began to pace. Backwards and forwards, her hand viciously shredding the leaves of a nearby shrub. A bird flew briskly off, screeching his dislike. At her feet, a small animal rushed forward, barking. ‘Dog’, said her memory, as it braked in front of her, then quickly scurried down a side path. Her shredding stopped and the pacing came to an abrupt halt. She considered the path, the barking, the small dog scurrying.
“What do you say?” she whispered to her staring son. He smiled in relief at the pleased mischief in his mother’s voice. Her feet turned and followed the small path. Down it crept, hugging the side of the building and following every hollow, every contour of the land. She rounded a corner to be stunned into a sudden standstill.
The front did have a panoramic view. Valley upon valley, folding away into vastness. Green rolled over the dips and gullies, lightest lime to darkly menacing giants. A river plunged and gurgled far below. Here and there, the bare earth erupted forth in mighty outcroppings of rock or in the jagged splash of a slip gouging a raw path through the trees. Patches of grass, irregular-shaped splodges, marked intermittent clearings. The sun shone strongly here, but far over in the distance, clouds formed mottled shadows racing across the land.
When Freya MacDiarmid had first landed her craft, Marthe had gained an impression of great height. Now she saw it confirmed. This was a peak, the highest point to be seen as the world fell away in front of her. Slowly, in stunned awe, she dragged her eyes from the view and back to the house.
Immediately in front of her, steps rose to the deck that must run along the entire front of this secretive house. It was designed for one thing only, a place from which to gaze out at this powerful vista. She stood stock still, drinking in the view. How long she stood, she knew not but, gradually, a sense of some other one entered her consciousness. Still she stared ahead, now fully aware then, slowly, she turned to look.
It stretched long and wide, the balcony. There were chairs, and pots of shrubs and flowers. A pergola reached out its protective arms from the house. There, at the farthest end, was a figure—a figure she knew almost as well as her own and had travelled over half of settled space to find. He stood, more still even than she, waiting. He had heard her assault on his door, then.
At first, it seemed neither would move. Then she started forward, slowly at first, placing just one foot in front of the other. Then quicker. And now, fear at last was routed and she hurried forward.
He remained as still as before. She approached and slowed till only paces away. Now the arms stretched wide and the precious smile she had missed so badly cracked into being … but not before she glimpsed the memory of the fear in her own heart echoed in his face. Then, the remaining gap was closed, and the wonderful smell and feel of him engulfed her once more. His hands closed, one fist clenching the waves of her hair, while the other encompassed the head of his son in protective tenderness. His head closed over hers and, for a time, the loneliness vanished.
Chapter Twelve
An indignant squawk from her son drew Marthe’s head up from the sleeper. She chuckled. That particular cry was very familiar. For a moment, she watched his angry legs digging into the soft bedding of his temporary nest, then gave in and rolled over to lift him up.
Hamon propped himself on his elbow, watching her settle the child between them on the breast. A quiet smile on his face, he drew one finger lightly across the soft mound and down to the greedily suckling mouth. The baby scowled fiercely at the intrusion, then set to feeding even more voraciously.
“A mite noisy, isn’t he?” He laughed. Then a somberness coated his face. “I thought never to see this again,” he said, looking up fully into her eyes. “You took such a long time to come, I assumed… It seemed that you wouldn’t come at all.”
“No, never that,” she promised, “but I had to say goodbye.”
“It can’t have been easy.”
“No.”
He knew it was all the answer she would ever give him, and his gaze lifted over her and out to the valleys of his boyhood. He tried to picture saying goodbye to them, and soon gave up. One hand clenched tight to hers, and he continued in a lightly teasing voice that seemed safer.
“You kept your arrival quiet. I’ve had the watchdogs out for weeks, but you must have come from the port to here before they could let me know.”
No answering smile came to her face. “I’ve been here some days. Your surveillance is good, but can’t match the fear of losing Allied help. A few chosen words in the right place kept the officials silent.”
His hand abruptly left hers and he sat up, withdrawing brusquely. “And you didn’t contact me till now? Come to that, how did you get past my perimeter defenses? Or are you still working?” he asked bitterly.
Marthe sat up as abruptly at that, before the enraged shriek of her son forced her to settle back down. Being forced to look up at the closed face of her husband did nothing for her confidence.
“Your mother got me in. She knew why I wanted to come unheralded and agreed to help. Or maybe you think she’s switched sides too?”
His face was still closed, but he was listening.
“I couldn’t come sooner nor contact you. If I had, I would have been forced to arrive surrounded by Alliance bureaucrats watching me, and Terran bureaucrats watching you. Is that what you want? The conquering Hathian strolling in here, while you hide everything you feel for fear of what your people might think?”
She ducked her head. “I need to know what we really are. Or were you just working, too, back there on Hathe?”
His angry, “Don’t be a fool,” did nothing to reassure her. “Do you really believe me capable of that? I may have done a lot on Hathe I can never take pride in, but deceiving you in this wasn’t one of them.”
His fist clenched again, but he eased down beside her, staring intently at her. Could it be a test, he wondered. After a while, the tension in her seeped into him and he sought her hand again.
“I have loved you almost from the first moment I saw you, all those years ago on Hathe; and, through those crazy months of your captivity, I grew to love you more and more. You are the other half of me, the only one who has ever known me, as I know you. We are a family, we three, and we will make a life together.” He kissed her, long and slow, an affirmation and a promise. He drew away, the crooked grin on his face matching the one that eased the stiffness of hers, “Just don’t ask me how, not yet.” Then he added, in the foreboding cadences of an oath, “We will not be parted, whatever may come; but I cannot sacrifice the things that make me the man you fell in love with. I will not betray my world. It is the lifeblood of me.”
“As Hathe, present or absent, is for me. I will not let you bring such destruction on us ever again.”
His nod mirrored hers as he reached to pull her close to him, where she belonged. His mouth twitched again, in a rueful grin. “All I can say is, the next few years should prove very interesting.”
She could feel his gaze over her head and beyond. “One day at a time,” she murmured. She felt the tension leave then as he moved to look down at her. The self-mocking grin was in place again.
“Do we have any other choice,” he said, amusement lighting his eyes. “You never know, you might just get to like Earth, and don’t answer that,” he added hurriedly, in response to the clench of negation she couldn’t prevent. “Only, let me show you my Earth.
Pay the Piper: Hathe Book Two Page 17