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

by Walter Blaire

  “Not as such, but I can be flexible.”

  “Then be flexible and visit, but do not burn,” Nana said. “You will see there are no more overlords there. You will see how my military is guiding them to the northern frontier of Sessera. And then, after you see all that, you can go back to your war.”

  “There’s still the war?” Praejele-ad didn’t bother hiding the relief in his voice.

  Jalamadon gave his fellow Southie an irritated glance. “Praej, she means the rest of the front. Old Sheflis and Ed-homse are still active fronts, together they make a thousand miles.”

  “But not Sessera,” Praejele-ad repeated.

  Nana nodded. “With Sessera, you have already won. The Tachba own it again. It is independent. Congratulations.”

  “I don’t like this,” Praejele-ad answered.

  Jalamadon punched his dead arm, eliciting a yelp. “Stop talking, Praej, you idiot!”

  Nana felt the man chair take a breath.

  “Slow,” Colonel Trappia uttered.

  She understood what he meant. “Jalamadon, husband: we’re talking about Ville Emsa. The city has never been part of the Moon Kingdoms. You have special orders, haven’t you? Standing orders from the beginning of the war. Any further action against Sessera must be ordered personally by the King of Kings, in Gring.”

  Relief showed briefly on the commander’s face, and she knew she’d found the right path. He now saw a way through what had to be a dangerous conundrum on his side. It was the classic military answer to any conflicting orders: Bump the question higher. Wait. Don’t do the obviously wrong thing.

  While she had the edge, she added, “Husband, I await the envoy of the King of Kings. I’d love a visitor. In fact, I hope to visit Gring soon, too. I can do that because Sessera is independent.”

  Jalamadon’s brow wrinkled. He muttered, “Could it be?”

  “Independent, Jalamadon,” Nana insisted. “If you attack us now, you will only strengthen the Haphan Empire. If you attack us, my people will hate me. I will be strangled by my own men and thrown onto the body pile, and Sessera will return to the Haphans. Can you imagine me being strangled? The hands closing over my neck? Can your mind picture that?”

  24

  Sethlan

  ~Ohhh,~ said the Voice.

  Shh. —What?

  ~Nana is being helped from the skies.~

  What? What is your ship doing?

  ~Not Lucky Strike. The CivGov ship.~

  Sethlan merely waited, knowing that the Voice would not be able to contain itself for long.

  ~The CivGov ship got our message.~

  Already? The bomb only exploded an hour ago.

  ~Well, light travels quickly, doesn’t it? The representative figured out our message and dropped the axe on Lucky Strike. There’s a rider vortex above Jalamadon, and—erm, call them CivGov’s ‘helpies’—are working him around to seeing reason.~

  You call this helping? Sethlan focused distain upon the corner of his mind where he thought the Voice might be hiding. This is the most vile, ungovernable little tyrant I’ve ever seen.

  ~They’re using a more polite and decorous method than Lucky Strike, because CivGov is civilized. It’s in the name. We can really only make suggestions.~

  And what about that man chair? Have you ever seen anything like that?

  ~As to that…~ The Voice trailed off. ~It’s exactly what it seems. Honestly, I don’t want to think about it.~

  Sethlan felt the same but couldn’t keep from glancing at Trappia again. The man—the butchered fragment of the man, Sethlan amended—loomed over Nana’s shoulder and whispered another word in her ear. As grotesque as the chair was, Trappia looked like a father encouraging a daughter. It sounded as if Trappia had whispered “love.”

  As if Nana needed any more guidance at this point. She was calling the Southie by his first name and lathering him with smiles and that magical word, ‘husband.’ It almost made Sethlan despair, how easily Nana could capture friends. Had she tried this hard with him? It had felt like a slow, painful, uphill slog, all the work on his side. Did that make her affection for him more…honest? He didn’t think she was acting. Am-a truly as I am, she always said. Her empathy and unfeigned concern about others was what made her the perfect dashta for the Observers, someone who could knit broken men back together. Perhaps that understanding of others was what made affection easy for her, because no one can hate what they fully understand.

  And now he loved her. What had he gotten himself into?

  Sethlan bootstrapped out of his thoughts and returned to the discussion. Jalamadon was actively asking Nana’s advice about what to report to Gring.

  ~She has a dangerous new admirer,~ the Voice said, with grudging respect. ~I’m starting to understand this queen thing. She’s really something, isn’t she?~

  Yes, well. What else is going on in the sky, Voice?

  ~I’m getting the full-band transmissions now. Lucky Strike has been sequestered. The ship will be tied up in court for a good century, unless it runs out of patience and just quits civilization all together.~

  Lucky Strike is defeated?

  ~As good as, Sethlan,~ the Voice said. ~I outmaneuvered a ship. I took on a fucking ship, and I won! You don’t understand how screwed we were. —Wait! There it goes! Lucky Strike’s mind has stopped broadcasting. Either suicide, or it just vectored somewhere else. The ship’s hull is falling apart.~

  Why is it falling apart?

  ~These advanced ships aren’t made out of nuts and bolts, they’re held together by energy fields, and those are gone now.~ The Voice paused. ~Also, the other atomics on Grigory’s surface have been found and neutralized. No more explosions today.~

  So you know everything that’s going on?

  ~CivGov is being as transparent as possible because all of this will be scrutinized in court. It’s calling all the other riders on Grigory and promising amnesty in return for information.~

  Other riders…how many more of you are there?

  ~I don’t know. There’s a lot of chatter now. Apparently, most of them are in Gring, shudder, where they were driving all those wonderful Southie innovations. They’re independents, under contract to Lucky Strike. They sound confused, angry, and glad to talk to CivGov. Hang on for a moment, I’m being asked to report.~

  Sethlan turned his attention back to Nana and the Tachba commander.

  She stood up from the chair and stretched. “As Queen, I can have no patience with unruly boys. We have been at war too long to have much tolerance.”

  Jalamadon laughed out loud. “Don’t talk to me about being at war too long. We will be on our best behavior. If we find Sessera is off the leash and independent, of course we’ll leave it alone.”

  Nana gave a severe, regal nod—which came immediately undone when she bounced excitedly on the balls of her feet.

  “Commander, won’t you come to Ville Emsa with me and watch the Haphans flee? I need to get back soon. I hope to snag a few imperials to make an embassy.”

  Jalamadon drew himself up. “My name is Ghaxxba.”

  Her face lit with pleasure, which elicited two lopsided, frightening leers from Jalamadon and Praejele-ad. “Ghaxxba, my name is Briff. Queen Briff.”

  “Queen Briff, I would love to view the sights of Ville Emsa.”

  Jalamadon started to turn but caught an armful of Nana as she embraced him. She hugged Praej as well, careful of his arm, and waved at the distant throng of Southie soldiers.

  Sure enough, the enemy soldiers waved back at Nana. Some of them even cheered her.

  ~This girl,~ the Voice said, ~I just don’t know.~

  When Jalamadon and Praejele-ad had returned to their side to make arrangements, Nana turned to the man chair. Trappia’s eyes were cloudier now than earlier, and since they wouldn’t turn to her, she placed herself in his sight-line. “I hope you can still hear me, colonel. I tell you thanks, and good-bye. I wished…I wished better for you.”

  She kissed the man’s sti
ff cheek and stepped back.

  Trappia gave no sign of registering any of this. Still, Sethlan’s hand trembled as he pulled his revolver and shot the man in the head.

  25

  Drivvy kept the steam cart in a low gear so the Southie lowbacks could keep up. Jalamadon and his retinue were riding behind, followed by a battalion of veterans who had won, out of all the units presents, a singularly vicious foot race to reach the steam cart first. This battalion would be the first of several units to enter Ville Emsa and visit the bars. They had decided to have one battalion on leave in the city each night, and they would find out which broke first, Ville Emsa or the Southies. Truthfully, there was some drunken violence expected.

  Sethlan sat in the steam cart cabin with Nana in his arms. She was comatose with fatigue, and he was too tired to think, unwilling to even open his eyes. Naturally, the Voice picked that moment to speak in his mind.

  ~I’m not entirely pleased with this outcome.~

  O Voice, would it wound you to hear that I don’t care?

  ~The war is not going to end with this. There is too much inertia, and this one little episode in Sessera won’t change the way things are on Grigory. It must play out, all by itself, on the rest of the front. Nothing’s changed, except that now the Haphans can guard two shorter trenches more easily than one long one. Neither side will ever have to consider peace again, as long as Sessera stays neutral—and good luck with that.~

  Sethlan smiled. I see Sesseran units being recruited by both sides. There will still be fighting for us, too. We’ll be rolling in Southie metals and Haphan gadgetry.

  ~Don’t mention this to Nana. Let her discover it for herself, so she won’t blame you when it all goes bad.~

  Oh, there’s nothing so bad about fighting. Except, well, the outcome of it. The beginning is fun.

  ~I can tell you don’t really believe that. When the Southies are swarming your streets, you’ll see what I mean. You’ve been civilized, forcibly civilized, but it’s too late to go back now. You’ll miss your quiet city nights. You and Nana will have to be very smart and keep Sessera moving up toward the Haphans, rather than sinking back down with the Southies.~

  You sound like you’re dead-talking, Sethlan said. If you’re getting ready to leave, you don’t have to share any wisdom. Just go. I’ll understand.

  Eponymous didn’t want to keep him thinking on the future. Given the planet’s history, Nana’s life as a queen could well be measured in weeks, and obviously Sethlan knew it. ~There’s a tradition among my kind, Haut Captain: I wouldn’t be a proper rider if I didn’t leave you a perspective. The CivGov ship has loaned me certain new sensory powers, and I’ve used them to learn your future. Would you like to hear?~

  Does it even matter how I answer?

  ~Here is your future, Sethlan. Everybody knows that a slight girl and a Tachba can’t breed. And everybody knows that a Tachba and a Tachba can breed. But here’s the thing—a slight and a slight can also breed.~

  Ha. I’d like to see two slight girls trying to breed. Sethlan paused. Actually, I think I would.

  ~You’re a throwback, Semelon. You’re slight, and you’ve always known it. You’re the male part of what Nana is, and you’ve been hammering her like a bent nail. Nana is pregnant with your little girl.~

  Sethlan stared straight ahead, stunned silent even in his mind.

  ~Good-bye, Sethlan. Can I call you Vercetorix?~

  Of course you can.

  ~I have a secret name too. My real name is Laura Breslin.~

  I’ll always think of you as ‘Voice.’

  ~Vercetorix, I like you but I won’t miss you. If you’re very careful, your girl will get to grow up. Think about the world in which you want her to live.~

  Then the Voice was gone.

  Sethlan’s hand shifted unconsciously to Nana’s stomach. She glanced up with a worried face, and he felt guilty. He had been entertaining the voice in his head, leaving her alone with her thoughts. They had clearly turned on her and whispered fearful things about the future.

  “There is so much we need to get right,” he murmured.

  “Sethlan, your face. What’s wrong?”

  He shook his head. “I think we’re in for a bit of an adventure.”

  “I don’t—” She clapped a hand over her mouth, and stared fiercely at the floor until her trembling subsided. “I know I should be happy, but I just feel sick.”

  When she looked back up, he was watching her with a strange and crooked smile.

  The End

  Epilogue

  Lucky Strike

  Lucky Strike spiraled toward Grigory IV. The ship was no more, but a large fraction of the ship’s frustrated and deeply annoyed mind-log found a way to escape. Encoded onto several of the millions of pieces of debris from the prospector’s hull, Lucky Strike let simple gravity pull it toward the southern continent.

  Gring, the massive, convulsing, cruelty-driven capital of the Southern Kingdoms, grew beneath it. With its concentrated mineral and biological resources, the city would supply Lucky Strike with everything it needed to rebuild.

  It had plans, yes. It was no longer a citizen of CivGov, now…

  So really, why hold back?

  Sethlan Semelon’s Wife

  Afterword

  Though this book is somewhat long, it used to be much longer. Many chapters were cut during editing, including a bunch of backstory about the most formative event in young Sethlan Semelon’s life.

  If you’re wondering how Sethlan married Ponym Paramadon, or you want to meet Sethlan’s dynamic and charming milk-fed brother—there’s a free story all about it!

  Click this link to get a free copy of The Shaping Trip.

  About the Author

  Walter Blaire writes books in a small Mississippi town famous for its other authors. He is presently writing the next book in the Lines of Thunder universe, which is about the early days of Sesseran independence.

  If you enjoyed reading The Eternal Front, help Walter snag more readers by leaving a review. Reviews are the lifeblood of today’s working authors!

  What’s next?

  Click this link to get a free copy of The Shaping Trip, the story about how Sethlan and his milk-fed brother met Ponym Paramadon.

  Keep an eye out for more books from the Line of Thunder Universe, coming soon!

  Keep track of the Lines of Thunder stories at:

  @BlaireWriter

  BlaireWriter

  www.WalterBlaire.com

  walter@walterblaire.com

  Acknowledgments

  This book has been around for so long, in so many bits and pieces, that I’ll never remember everybody who influenced it. Here are the best people.

  First I’ll thank my aunt, Irmgard Flaschka, for kickstarting my love of science fiction. She sent me a copy of Starship Troopers when I was eight or ten years old, and afterward she had to listen to my edgy ideas about personal responsibility and corporal punishment.

  I’ll thank George Lewis for giving me, “they wanted to be angry but they were laughing too hard,” which is a frequent refrain in this book. It was from his stories about growing up in Mississippi, and he doesn’t know he gave it to me.

  My editor, Kate Lechler of Cephalopod Editing, imparted some brilliant developmental insight and then went elbow-deep in the text with a scalpel. She’s the reason this page isn’t littered with 1800s naval slang and hundreds of extra commas.

  My mother and her family account for a big theme in the book. From her I gleaned how manners, tradition, and a little formality can function as a social interface. Everything got easier when I realized it isn’t about moon-like distance; it’s really a way to give more attention to others without the ego bursting through. True experts can run conversational A/B split tests, float and retract ideas, match orbits, diagnose problems, and most of all, remain analytical during serious talks. I know this is old news to most, but it worked well in the book for conversations between adversaries or strangers.

>   “Every culture had people like these, the ones who point the young men toward death and war, and then stay behind. The politicians, the preachers, the schoolteachers, the pretty girls.” Eponymous’s cynicism about Nana is paraphrased from something my father told me when I was young. Simple enough, but it has guarded me my whole life. Skepticism is invaluable in a world where evil so often begins in feelings of certainty and righteousness.

  Thanks to my lovely wife for her support, and to our three fascinating children for how they seem to make the world more… legible. I didn’t expect a family would be good this way, as a petri dish for the larger existence. Through long necessary exposure, my children’s daily patterns of learning and interaction are slowly revealing some of the mighty, eternal patterns of the world. I’m still working on this thought. It’s just that despite my children’s best efforts, life sometimes seems to make sense.

  Finally, I’ll veer onto the sidewalk and thank amphetamine salts for their “Flowers for Algernon” affect on my brain. When I was medicated for attention deficit at 40 I finally started finishing things: college and then graduate school, taxes, sentences, pop culture references, and a bunch of books! It was like bolting from blood-fed to milk-fed.

  Walter Blaire / Oxford, 2016