Resistance: Hathe Book One Read Free

Suddenly she froze.
The tramp of feet approached, a patrolman on his way around the
camp perimeter. Closer he came, till he stopped by a large clump of
grass to survey the scene then gave a shiver, huddled into his big,
heavy coat and continued on. Behind the clump, she let out a silent
sigh of relief. As soon as the tramp of feet had died away, she
hurried onwards. The last obstacle was behind her.
    Moving
quickly, she made for the safety of a nearby hollow. Once in the
tussocks on the far side, she would be hidden from even the
sharpest of human eyes. Then began a long night of hard slogging,
clinging to the sides of hills, slithering into the protective
cover of the bushes in the sinuous gullies that carved their way
into the land and winding her way about the rocks thrusting up
through the plain. Always she kept the road near, following its
twisting path onwards to the goal they both sought.
    It was
nearly morning when the grey light of the still hidden sun showed
her the jumbled shapes of buildings ahead. In the middle, towering
over the surrounding huddle of shacks and closely packed houses,
was a huge, white edifice. The Citadel. Home to the Terrans, and
her goal.
    Not
far from the wall enclosing the town, Marthe stopped and curled up
in the shelter of a bush. There was time to rest. She pulled the
heavy outer wrap closely round her and gave in to the weariness of
the long night’s tramp, lapsing into heavy sleep. An unforgivably
short time had passed before she was rudely woken by the prodding
of a boot in her back. She looked up, straight into the face of a
Terran soldier.
    “ What’s this?” snarled a voice in Terran Standard.
    Like
all Hathians, Marthe had long ago learnt the hated tongue. Even
after years on Hathe, few Terrans had bothered to acquire more than
a smattering of the local Harmish tongue, rightly surmising that if
the natives knew what was good for them, they would soon master
their conquerors’ language.
    The
soldier poked his boot in again, hard. “What are you up to out
here, girl? Trying to avoid your assigned duty, unless I’m
mistaken.”
    Marthe
ducked her head, hiding the quick gleam in her eyes. “No, sir,
never.”
    “ Then what? Explain, and make it quick.”
    “ I
was in a foraging party sent out here yesterday, sir, and missed
the last gong. The gates had shut before I knew it.”
    “ Why? Sleeping instead of working, I suppose?” The soldier
prodded her upright and looked down in contempt. He was of only
average build himself and was clearly enjoying to the full his
height advantage.
    “ Not
sleeping, sir. I’d found a jerbel bush and was trying to pick as
many berries as possible. The Commander likes them particularly,
sir, and I hoped to exchange them for extra supplies for my
family.”
    “ And
what happened to all those jerbels?”
    “ I
ate them, sir. I was so hungry last night.”
    “ So,
greedy as well as lazy. We’ll see what the Committee can do about
that. Come on, get moving!”
    The
words were reinforced with a heavy blow to the side of the head.
Marthe was used to such treatment, merely shaking her head to clear
the momentary fuzziness before starting to walk, her shoulders
bowed as if in fear. Beneath her hood, her lips twitched in
triumph.
    Soon
they reached the great metal gates of the town. So far, her
information was accurate. The only guards she could see were a
troop of soldiers lounging carelessly near the outer posts. Her
captor hailed the one closest. “Hey, Carl. Take charge of my work
group, will you? I found this one skulking outside, too busy last
night gorging on jerbels to hear the gong. It’s the Citadel for
her, I reckon. Maybe a spell in prison will remind her of her
place.” He gave a loud guffaw and shoved her forward.
    They
continued on, through busy streets crowded with natives and the
occasional Terran soldier. Many were the frightened looks cast the
pair and not a few shocked glances. At one point she stumbled,
falling heavily