Free Resistance: Hathe Book One by Mary Brock Jones Page A

emerged. On the one hand, des Trurain seemed to be nothing
more than an irresponsible sprig of his world’s political elite,
ready at any time to join in with the more daring of the juvenile
pranks of his friends—among whom, he noted in particular, Bendin
asn Castre and his twin sister, Marthe. So, she had been honest
there. Even through the spare lines of the news reports, he caught
an image of a close threesome. If one was mentioned, so were the
other two. A triplet of bright young things, eager for whatever
adventures their world could offer.
    But
that was too simplistic a picture of Marthe, and it seemed the same
was true of des Trurain. The man had been active in student
politics and was also a highly regarded scholar of history—his
particular area of interest the early development of the modern
Alliance, that loose confederation of the planets that had been
settled long ago by people from Earth.
    Hamon
cringed as he read des Trurain’s work, with its caustic analysis of
the warmongering prevalent in pre-Alliance societies. He couldn’t
fail to recognize how the current actions of his own people
repeated the time-worn cycle of greed and conquest.
    It was
a relentless and unforgiving academic self-flagellation, but he
forced himself to persevere. He must understand des Trurain.
Perhaps in understanding Marthe’s friend—he refused to grant the
man any closer name— he would find an explanation for his own
turmoil. How had he come to be in sole and vicious charge of one
proud and learned woman who deserved to be pitied more than
tormented, whatever the truth might be? He knew all the clichéd
reasons, but his own, more personal ones … were they good
enough?
    Grimly, he brought up screen after screen of damning records.
Was he seeking justification for his present actions or escape from
the burden of his Terran birthright—a heritage that seemed to
promise only pain and dishonor whichever path he chose? Whatever
Marthe asn Castre might be to him, she was also the key to this
planet. She alone could deliver the secret to securing the
quantities of urgonium Earth needed so desperately. He had to
continue his plan, must believe that success would soon be in his
grasp … if he could but live with himself for long
enough.
    He
returned to his apartment, heavy-hearted and angry. He’d undertaken
a project in good faith, and whose fault was it but his own that
he’d not foreseen the consequences? He passed through the doorway
with a quick check of the security lock then looked through the
lounge towards the balcony.
    There
was no sign of his prisoner.
    He
checked all the rooms, hurrying into the bedroom to see if she’d
managed to bypass the controlling fields cloaking the apartment and
fall asleep. No sign of her. Panic goading him, he activated his
screen, ordering a heat sensor scan of every room.
    There,
in the service cupboard.
    So,
her grief was not too deep to stop her trying to escape. He moved
swiftly, warily alert, slamming the door opener and erupting into
the cupboard. Then came to an abrupt halt. Marthe was there, still
sleep deprived but not trying to flee. Her elegant shift covered by
an old tunic of his, she was occupied in nothing so extraordinary
as that. Instead, she was mundanely emptying the contents of the
rubbish bin into a recycling chute.
    “ What are you up to?”
    “ Cleaning the apartment, of course. Since you see fit to
imprison me here, you’ve had to forgo the usual cleaning maid. And
while you may fancy living in filth, I do not.”
    “ My
apologies. I didn’t realize a Lieger would notice such
things.”
    She
ignored his deliberate use of the insulting Lieger, instead of the
more proper Haut Liege. But he knew she had heard it.
    “ It
is years since I had servants to attend to such matters. I learned
very quickly after you Terrans arrived that if I wanted my
surroundings to remain in an acceptable state, I would have to do
it myself.”
    “ Then you have my permission to