The Eternal Front: A Lines of Thunder Novel (Lines of Thunder Universe)

by Walter Blaire

  “Warty, what the fuck is going on with your snappie Observers?”

  Gawarty slowed. “Snappie?”

  “Snappie, Sessie, Tacchie. They’re all animals, aren’t they? Back-biting, betraying animals.”

  “Maybe you just bring out the worst in people.”

  “Colonel,” she snapped. “‘You bring out the worst in people, colonel.’ Call me a bitch to my face, but at least call me colonel.”

  Gawarty wasn’t intimidated. What did the niceties of rank really mean, after nearly three weeks on the front? Sethlan and even Diggery had saved his life more than once as he trundled behind them in the trenches. He was not about to apologize or turn defensive when it came to the Observers.

  Instead, he said, “How is your Sergeant Rethla?”

  “He’s shitting in a bag. The chest wound was clean, careful, and utterly survivable. Even considerate for a Tachba when you think about it. But Rethla said some other drunk Tacchie found him on the ground shortly after and cut his stomach open as a lark. He’s only alive because of some Tawarna nano-drugs. He’s going north for rehabilitation, and won’t be back for a year.” Jephia saw his look. “What was I supposed to do, let him expire? I know those drugs are my inheritance, but he was eviscerated while doing a favor for me. It wasn’t even an order. And why? Because I forgot, for one minute, the kind of animals we’re dealing with.”

  “You know who stabbed him? The first time.”

  “Of course I do. What’s more, the little bastard knows I know, and he’s not keeping his appointments.”

  “Who?”

  “Better you don’t learn,” she said shortly.

  “So it was Cephas,” said Gawarty grimly. “He hasn’t been seen since that night. The sculls are looking for him.”

  “Your dashta ordered her sculleries to search?” Jephia clarified.

  “No. Sethlan told the dashta to send them looking. Because Colonel Trappia is well and truly missing, and can’t be found either.” And what do you know about that, sister?

  “Sethlan tasked an alewife, in the colonel’s absence, to search for the colonel. Next, we’ll have sculleries ordering officers, and corroaches issuing promotions to oar beetles.” Jephia shook her head. “You see what I deal with? They have no conception of how to behave when I’m surveilling them.” She threw herself into her chair and grubbed through a stack of papers. “Let me tell you why I’m out of sorts. It will keep you alive for the next five days.”

  “That is very kind in you.”

  “A stack of sensitive documents was stolen out of the communications nexus in your building. Papers stolen by Tachba. Do you notice anything odd there? Papers, for one. Stolen, for two. The papers in question are grade two, so I don’t know what they’re about. They’re stolen out of the artery hallway and carried into the club where you spend all your time drinking. The club was full, but nobody saw what happened.

  “Casual questioning brings nothing but smirks. When we use close questioning, they simply pretend confusion and then die. We can’t pull in an actual Observer officer so soon after the colonel, because they would be missed and it might incite something. But the Observer sculls and helpies we’re pulling off the street don’t have the intelligence to look around themselves. They are trained to ignore what is on the table-tops in the Club; it’s an intelligence unit after all, and it’s not like these people have any natural curiosity.”

  “So no trail to follow,” Gawarty said.

  “Cephas is dead,” she told him flatly. “He was knifed outside the 314th the same night Rethla was cut up. The same night I—never mind. I have the club under surveillance, and when we noticed Cephas’ corpse we dragged him away. A good thing, too, because he was carrying those stolen papers. Our Cephas, who every reason to love the local empress, who made a thousand sacrifices to preserve his good name, was found carrying stolen intelligence.”

  Gawarty stared in shock. Something about Cephas had seemed eternal and unbudging. It was wholly unnatural that Cephas could have been surprised by death.

  “But we trusted him,” he said. He realized that this meant Cephas was a traitor and that this had completely escaped him. He had been practiced upon by a man, by a Tachba rather, who should have been very bad at lying.

  “We still trust him, Warty, we never stopped. Of course, he had his own snappie life, his little tribulations and possibly even a point of view. They all do, since they’re people, in a manner of speaking. He might have been machinating, but he did not betray us—I’d sooner think that Rethla gutted himself just to inconvenience me. Cephas didn’t steal those papers.”

  “No?”

  Jephia laughed at him. “Can you imagine Cephas running down a hall? Can you name any officer in the club holding his tongue merely to preserve Cephas’s skin? Cephas was given the documents, or he took them away from someone. Or they were planted after his death.”

  Gawarty nodded.

  “So I have a contact who stabs Rethla. I have Cephas who was planted with something dangerous and then left in the street. I have channels that are drying up because people have stopped talking. I have stacks of nuisance reports from Happies in the trenches who think their Sesseran units are mouthing off to them…” she tapped a tall pile of folders. “I have arms shipments going missing, supply trains intercepted by raiders for shit’s sake, and units late for their front-line rotations when they show up at all.

  “But these are only distractions,” she added. “We can still get through this. We can still get answers by working harder. The only black hole in this whole collapsing information network is your Observers. We can’t see a thing there, and it started when we put a Haphan officer into the club.”

  “Me.”

  “Yes, you!” she hissed. “Warty, keep up, and don’t take it personally. We stirred something up, and now we’re seeing the results.”

  “I’ll do what I can…” Gawarty began.

  “That don’t serve,” she said crisply. She pointed out the window, “We have five days at most before a mountain of crap lands on the front out there, and the empire burns through two million men and three decades of ammunition and equipment. There is no time for a soft touch.”

  Gawarty watched her, feeling bleak. “The unit is doing real work, Jeph. Important work. Every day, at least half of them are on the line. I’ve seen the casualty figures. I personally know the officers who are dying in the trenches.”

  “You’re telling me that the 314th has the run of the line, and unrestricted movement all the way to the Tachba trenches. If you were spreading dissent or fomenting rebellion, wouldn’t a unit of Observers be the most wonderful tool?”

  “I know those people, Jeph.”

  Something in his voice made her relent. “They don’t have to be traitors to serve a traitor’s cause,” she said softly. “It only takes a leader.”

  He stared at her.

  “Who leads the Observers, Warty?” She already knew the answer and nodded when he didn’t speak. Still, he felt like he had betrayed someone.

  “So you know Nana? Semelon?” she continued.

  “Yes.”

  “Find out what they’re doing. How does Semelon step into Trappia’s position, being just a Haut Captain? Which officers is the dashta controlling? Who is she whispering to—not talking, but whispering? When does she leave the club?”

  “Yes, colonel.”

  She nodded over his shoulder. “I have a staff meeting, I see them peeking through the door. We have to step lively, and we won’t be getting much sleep.”

  “I hope you will be safe,” Gawarty said remotely.

  “Me? Unkillable. But you’re going between the hammer and the anvil. Keep your head down, and remember, any one of those idiots can be tricked into stabbing you as a service to the empire.”

  She helped him on with his greatcoat. It was heavy with soil, and the pockets were packed with food. She grunted as she lifted it. “It’s Daddy I worry about most.”

  10


  Sethlan

  Just as the steam cart pulled into the through-way, the door to the club opened. Nana stepped out, wrapped in a heavy shawl but still shivering in the morning cold.

  “Where’s the Haphan spy?”

  Sethlan shrugged. “Warty isn’t here yet. He’s been slowing down over the last few days.”

  “Not used to real work, I suppose,” she said.

  Drivvy eased off his perch and wandered up the stairs in search of a free drink. He had been adopted as a kind of mascot by the sculls, an exceedingly useful mascot with his own transportation for errands and trips to the countryside. Even when he was gone, the steam cart kept clanging and belching.

  ~It’s idling,~ the Voice explained. ~So he won’t have to start it again. Primitive engines do that.~

  It makes too much of itself, Sethlan thought. We all do. With our likes and dislikes, grinding on like...never mind.

  “Nana, this morning I sent some officers searching for the train cars we want. It’s off the book so it won’t be in today’s orders.”

  “I am aware. But you only sent six men. Will that be enough?” She cocked her head at him, the way that used to be fetching. “We’ve seen how people aren’t returning from their errands. Half my sculls are missing, and the rest tell me I’ll find them dead.”

  “Any more than six officers would be noticed. I sent out good ones. If they don’t return, it won’t be for lack of trying. Anyway, we only need one to make his report.”

  He turned away, but it wasn’t settled. Her voice brought him back. “You should have sent thirty, Haut Captain; who cares if they’re noticed? You should have put Hemes in command. He can be smart. Being discreet, at this point, will only make bigger problems later.”

  The Voice tsked at her, and Sethlan somewhat agreed. Had the dashta challenged Colonel Trappia’s decisions like this? “Dashta, Nana, a variation in our pattern will be noticed. We’re being watched even now. The club is being scrutinized and the staff is being sampled. That’s where your sculls are going. I think I ended the 314th when I took those secret folders, because now we have the Haphan intelligence on us. There is only one way to come at this: at the last possible moment, when it is too late for them to respond in time.”

  “You didn’t cause this,” Nana said. “Don’t blame yourself and be impatient with everybody else. The Happies were building up long before your exploit. I think the Gray House started working when the ship arrived.”

  ~Ship? What ship?~

  “You mean the Southie dreadnought?”

  She shook her head. “The space ship. The one that arrived in-system a few months ago. The Haphans saw it long before we did with their better telescopes. If it’s not more Haphan colonists, then it could be another advanced civilization. They would certainly knock the Haphans down a notch. It might be medicine for the Pollution, or mediators for the war.”

  Sethlan stared at her wordlessly until she turned and saw his face. “What?”

  “When was I going to be told about the ship?” he asked, teeth clenched.

  “Whenever it naturally came up,” she replied, a little sharply. “Now, in fact. Sir, the ship is probably still months away. We have problems today.”

  ~Like you need more answers withheld.~

  Shut up, Voice. She doesn’t know what we know.

  She tried to soften her tone. “It’s just one ship, Haut Captain. It could be anything, it could be another Haphan ark-ship, for all we know.”

  “It’s important, Nana. It’s important to everything we need to piece together. And now I find you’re working against us.”

  “Don’t ‘Nana’ me when you’re being a captain.” She crossed her arms. “I decided it was not important. Do you claim the dashta was wrong?”

  “A ship changes everything. Is it that you don’t want me to be confused by too much information? Maybe I’m useless and blood-fed? Surely all knowledge must stay centered upon you, so you have a string to pull when you need it.” Sethlan dropped his cheroot to the cobblestones. “I wonder if there are other revelations that I have to wait upon.”

  She watched him warily. “There are.”

  “There are. There are?”

  “But we must all wait until you are more kind,” she said, and turned to the door. “Come back safely.”

  Sethlan watched her go with relief, and some surprise at his relief. She passed Diggery in the door, and Drivvy emerged after.

  They glanced around, and Diggery said, “Which we are still short some worm-bait.”

  “Here I am,” said Gawarty, trotting up. “The worm-bait is here.”

  When Sethlan opened the steam cart’s door, Gawarty blocked his way. “I am sorry, captain.”

  Sethlan flinched, as any Tachba would at such a blatant apology. Gawarty’s heavy solemn tone made it even more excruciating. “You are just in time, not late at all.”

  “Still,” said Gawarty. “I am very sorry.”

  Sethlan had the lieutenant’s words, but then he also had the look on the lieutenant’s face, suspicious and apologetic at the same time. After a moment, Sethlan decided that if the universe wanted him to understand, it would have to make itself easier to decipher.

  “Very good,” he said. “Shall we get started? The war, and all. I think we’ve had enough behavior for one morning.”

  Settled in the cart and making good time on the road, Sethlan probed his mind. Well, Voice?

  He received no answer. His inner antagonist was ruminating. On what, he had no idea.

  “What’s so great about women, anyway?” Diggery said. He sounded as if he was trying to convince himself of something. It was just loud enough to be heard over the tremendous racket but not loud enough to be deemed conversation.

  Still, Gawarty nodded darkly. “Why do they plant doubt upon doubt and make you question everything you know?”

  “They always have to run everything,” Sethlan muttered.

  “They run everything already,” said Diggery. “It’s only about keeping us in line.”

  “So everything has to be guesswork and secrets,” Gawarty said.

  They stopped, eyes meeting and then shifting away.

  “I didn’t catch that last one?” Drivvy called.

  “It was nothing.”

  “How can it be that you three have woman problems?” Drivvy probed. “Haven’t we been fourteen hours a day at the front? I mean, where did you find the time?”

  Diggery said, “I have a long knife says we get some peace.”

  That was the opening Drivvy sought. “A long knife, is that so? Can it reach up to my seat? I knew a man once, had a yard long boot sword...”

  “I can take my pistol and shoot you,” Diggery said. “That’s sort of like a knife, isn’t it? So shut your mouth.”

  The cabin finally went silent.

  ~So no more woman talk. That just leaves the atomic bombs in Emsa, and an alien ship in the skies.~

  Still many chances to render useful service.

  ~Very droll, Sethlan. The ship changes everything for us.~

  Does it really? That fact, all by itself, actually makes a huge difference to me.

  ~How so?~

  Because now I know you’re not some figment of my imagination, or worse, an ancestor. Nana may be a manipulator, but she’s right. The fact that your ship has been discovered makes little difference to what is coming.

  ~You couldn’t be more wrong.~

  Sethlan paused. Perhaps if you gave me another chance, I could be a little more wrong.

  ~Jokes? After weeks of being a dull, duty-ridden, two-fisted drinker, you’ve finally decided it’s time to be funny?~

  What I find funny is everybody moaning about what I don’t know. Nobody on the Emsa front will answer my questions. Nana peels off secrets like cards in a hand. And have I ever gotten a straight answer from you about anything?

  11

  Eponymous

  Eponymous wasn’t sure she liked her new, sarcastic Sethlan. The captain was us
ually plodding and secure, a surprisingly stable base, given what she’d seen of other Sesserans. He was polite even inside himself, correcting his own thoughts with unwounding deference, which allowed him to skate through the self-doubts and personal demons that plagued other hosts. It let him be an efficient, if dull, butler of his mind—but now the butler’s rooms were collapsing.

  It is always a woman, Eponymous thought to herself. We’re kind of magical that way.

  ~You’re at the front too much,~ Eponymous said aloud.

  Voice, at least the front makes sense.

  ~You’re complaining about Nana, for God’s sake. Where does that come from? She’s your lover. Even before that, you knowingly let her poison you.~

  The problem is, she’s still poisoning. What happens when there is no trust? She’s hiding something.

  ~Can’t you believe that she’s just a normal person, making her way like everybody else? Is there no room for accidents, errors in judgment, all the rest?~

  Sethlan’s mind roiled, but nothing like an answer floated to the top.

  ~Surely you don’t believe in that inerrant dashta shit. Have you bought into the mystique, even though you know she’s simply a worried young woman at heart?~

  I find myself fighting everyone. Sethlan’s thoughts were more controlled now, with the ragged edges pulled in. Fighting everyone for answers, even friends, even lovers, even the very fucking voice in my head.

  ~Well, when is anything clear? It’s always a piece-of-this, a half-of-that. You knit it together the best you can. You’re an intelligence officer, you know you never get a clear picture.~

  You’re thinking of something else, Sethlan answered. I can tell. You’re not saying everything. Again.

  That was true enough. Eponymous was indeed steering the conversation. ~Let me tell you one new thing. That ‘new’ ship in the skies is not mine.~

  No? Then whose is it?

  ~I only know it’s not mine.~

  How can this be? Sethlan’s thoughts now took their familiar shape, a steady thrum that pressed up against Eponymous’s mind like a motorboat gaining speed. I’m certain I learned that ships communicate across space. And you’ve spoken to your ship, you told me that. How could you not have heard about this newcomer?