“But you can’t be drunk! Because all your stuff!”
“The difference between you and me is that I’m drunk on business.” Jephia propped her tablet in front of her face—it looked like she was in her apartment. “I just got back from some social visits. Tactical cocktail hour, that sort of thing.”
With her hands free, Jephia untwisted her exquisitely arranged hair and dug around until she found the coiffure control clip. When she switched it off, her golden hair lost its volume and cascaded from her head, uncurling and hanging straight. Caulie’s tipsiness made the process mesmerizing to behold.
“At least they’re not barraging your length of trench,” Jephia added. “Ask your harem of men where the shells are falling and whether I should be worried for you.”
“I’m out in the middle of—” Caulie paused. “Where I am, if we hear the barrage, we’re getting shelled. That’s what I was told today by a talking corpse that seemed to know a thing or two.”
Jephia leaned forward. “Caulie, I’ll permit you to get drunk, but you mustn’t try to be clever. I hear your barrage, but I don’t hear your shells landing. Try to think clearly.” She put on her teaching voice: “You must strive for Haphan clarity and awareness.”
“Okay, I’ll ask them—”
“Wait.” Jephia’s tone was abrupt and cold, her eyes penetrating. “You’re not near HQ, you said? You’re in the middle of nowhere?”
“Yes.”
“Yet my tablet connected to yours without any problem.”
Caulie blinked at her friend. That was indeed odd. More than odd. If she let herself think about it, it verged on concerning.
Jephia saved her the trouble of thinking. “Your panther has followed you to your location. It’s nearby and still relaying our signals.”
Caulie felt abruptly queasy, and it wasn’t from the bourbon.
“Why is the panther stalking you?” Jephia wondered aloud. “Never mind, I can guess why. Caulie, I have to go. I’ll call you in an hour, and don’t answer unless you’re alone. If you aren’t able to answer, well . . .”
Jephia hesitated a moment, eyes dropping, and then she disconnected.
After a stunned moment, Caulie clawed out of her jacket.
The men around her were sitting in silence, listening to the distant thunder. The interior of the bunker was still, and even the tweaks of the men, which she’d increasingly overlooked the more bourbon she drank, seemed muted.
As she panned over their still, serious faces, they abruptly twitched. A jerk of the shoulder, a tilt of the head. Nothing in itself.
Except they did it in unison.
“Shanter!” she exclaimed.
Her helpie turned slowly. His eyes were round and worried.
“Shanter, it’s happening again! Cover your ears.”
His arms spasmed as if he wanted to move them. He couldn’t. He tried to speak, but couldn’t part his lips.
Caulie’s terror made her strong.
She grabbed his neck with both hands and pulled him close. His massive frame folded against her like a wet mattress. She covered them both in her heavy coat; she could think of nothing better. She hugged Shanter’s head against her stomach and curled around him. Her hands blocked his ears.
The thunder continued to speak.
Chapter 16
When the barrage stopped, the men in the bunker were dead.
They were covered in blood, and Caulie was in the middle of them.
Only Shanter, his head buried in Caulie’s lap, moved at all. He was twitching and kicking as if he were asleep.
Caulie didn’t know how long she stared at the bodies. Eventually, Shanter kicked himself awake.
With a muffled voice, he asked, “Why is my face in your lap, Caulie?”
She opened her mouth to answer, but something carefully maintained snapped inside of her. Instead of words, she sobbed. She cried freely with tears hot on her cheeks as Shanter scrabbled out of her clutching arms.
He stared around the bunker, appalled.
Then his face cleared.
Even amid her tears, Caulie knew what was happening. It was his Pollution, returning him to useful service. It was smoothing his shock into fear, then flattening his fear into concern. Next, it would shift his concern into action.
Shanter jumped to his feet and gathered her in his arms.
He carried her out of the bunker into the trenches, where they found more of the same.
Those who had greeted Caulie only hours ago were now dead. Even the sleeping dead, the falsely dead of the first battalion—even those soldiers were covered in blood that soaked the fronts of their coats. Whatever had happened, it had escalated from false death to real death.
And it encompassed all of the men: the men in the bunker, the men in the trench—their jaws gaped open, dripping red. Their chins and breasts were dark with it. Their hands were wet with it, from where they had tried to hold back the blood vomiting from their mouths.
Shanter didn’t put her down and he didn’t stop moving. At first, she let horror overwhelm every thought and cared about nothing. Then she told herself she had to care.
“Where are we going, Shanter?”
“A rapid advance to the rear,” he said. “I’m running away.”
“We should stay to . . . do something. To help.”
“Suggestion noted,” he said. “Everyone on the trench is killed, though. That means the Southies are coming. Even if they only had the brains of an oar beetle, they’d come sniffing for carrion.”
Of course, he was right. If the barrage was the weapon that cleared out the trenches, there would be enemy close behind to press the advantage. She peeked at the world through his arms and saw they were still surrounded by dead.
“I hadn’t known there were so many,” she whispered. “We’re not going to make it.”
Shanter heard her. “We might not, but let’s run anyway. Nobody was ever killed extra for trying to live a little longer.”
“I’m slowing you down,” she said. “Put me down. I can run too.”
“Caulie, are you trying to be irritating?”
“I can run!”
“You can’t run like I can run. You’re only distracting me.”
But she felt so useless. “At least shift me in your grip so I’m not being carried like a baby.”
He juggled her in the air and grabbed her in a new, even more compromising position. Like lovers almost: her cheek against his, her breasts against his chest. His arms cradling her back.
“Oh, for all love, Shanter, really? Switch me back to being a baby.”
“Get your mind out of the gutter and let me concentrate.”
“I am nothing without my gutter,” she murmured, then laughed. The laugh ran away from her and kept going. Drinking liquor, crying over dead Tachba, laughing, squirming in a tight embrace: she’d hit every mark for things a Haphan overlord should not do with a servitor. She had egregiously undercut her imperial presence. She burst with another peal of laughter, sounding like a frightened banshee even to her own ears.
“I swear, you’re more polluted than I am,” Shanter said. “Any noise you make will draw the enemy to us. No doubt they were near our trenches, waiting for whatever it was that just happened.”
She wanted to tell him not to worry. The enemy would have to be far away from the barrage, otherwise they’d fall victim to the same fate, wouldn’t they? They would. Unless, of course, the Southies had even moderate powers of forethought and they’d covered their ears during the thunder.
She grappled with her satchel and pulled out her tablet.
“Panther, can you hear me?”
“Yes.”
“You followed me, didn’t you?”
“I am nearby.”
“Locate my tablet. Come meet Shanter and me, take us to safety.”
“Shanter is your Tachba orderly.”
“We’ll both fit inside you. He has those extra limbs you were worried about. He’ll sit in th
e seat and I’ll be in his lap…” Because clearly the universe didn’t want her to have any dignity whatsoever. Another wave of manic laughter washed through her, but this time she stifled it.
“Tachba cannot witness proscribed technology.”
She hissed with impatience. “Are you still on that? Don’t be so precious about your regulations.”
“You are not permitted to break regulations and put the empire at risk merely because you are about to die.”
“Clarify that,” Caulie said. “The dying part. If you would be so kind.”
“Your section of trench is about to be overrun by a group of approaching enemies.”
“Ask if it’s a big group or small group,” Shanter interjected. “I can kill a small group. If it’s a big group, I might have to put you down.”
“Excuse me,” the panther said, “but is that your Tachba orderly, and is he listening to your conversation with me? I am obligated to submit a report that will appear on your record.”
“My record is already in the dumps.” Caulie thought furiously for a moment. “You can’t pick us up. Can you keep the Southies off of us so we can get away? Can you at least do that?”
A brief silence. “Are you ordering me to engage the enemy?”
“Can you do that?”
“Yes. There are sixty-two souls near your location. They will not survive.”
She hesitated.
“If they deserved long lives, they wouldn’t be attacking in the middle of a war,” Shanter said.
“Your servitor has a point,” the panther said.
“You want to attack, don’t you, panther?” Caulie asked.
“Oh, yes.”
She shivered at the panther’s voice. “I order you to engage the enemy on my authority. Whatever authority I have with you. Limit the damage to what you can.”
“I will engage,” the panther said. “I will not limit the damage.”
“Then—”
“Order received,” the panther said, and disconnected.
In the darkness rose a new sound like the rattle of sheet metal. A cascade of boulders dislodged somewhere high above them. An unearthly cry echoed against the cliffs, raising the hair on Caulie’s neck. The panther had been unleashed.
* * *
“How long can you keep going?” Caulie asked.
They were passing units of standing, living Ed-homse soldiers and the danger seemed to have dwindled behind them. Shanter’s arms around her body were iron bands, and he still hadn’t slowed.
“Not sure,” Shanter gasped. “I’ve never run from these things before. Killing thunder. A Southie assault with no one to turn it back. A talking metal animal. I feel quite energized, la.”
Caulie relaxed a little. “La” wasn’t for emergencies; it was for droll commentary, or to draw attention to the next statement. La, Shanter, you’re rattling my teeth out of my skull.
“Slow down. Let me stand and walk. I have to think.”
“We must get back to HQ to deliver the warning.”
“Jephia didn’t want me to go back there.”
“The little harpy under the glass?” He snorted derisively. “She has no idea of the ground-truth here. I mean no disrespect.”
“Stop!” Caulie cried. “Just put me down.”
Shanter’s legs locked and he reeled into the sandbags of the trench wall. Caulie became the soft point of impact for them both. Her ribcage bowed and the air squeezed from her lungs. Shanter staggered to keep balance and swayed when he finally came to rest.
She groaned. “Goodness! Sorry. I’m new to this.”
“The stop order,” Shanter said, gasping through clenched teeth.
“I know. Sorry. Put me down.”
He opened his arms and then it was her turn to stagger around. She brought her legs under control and returned to him.
“Are you still with me?” She shook him by his coat lapels, staring up into his face. He was angry. His face was frozen in anger, just as the rest of him was frozen. Eventually, his eyes touched hers and the anger melted away. Who knew what programs the Pollution was running in his mind? “Cancel my last order. Reverse. Undo.”
She shut up and waited. She was the leading Tachba expert, after all. She knew that stop orders could not be canceled—they could only fade.
“Ah, damn, what am I?” Shanter muttered. “It’s just a word.”
“I would never—I’m so very sorry.”
“Asking permission-meh to sit down and . . . never mind.” He sagged to the ground and flopped to his back in the trench gutter, gulping air. “I’ll be down here if you need me.”
Caulie cursed herself inwardly. “We can’t go back to HQ,” she said. “Something is happening there, something political. It’s not safe for me. We have to hide somewhere else.”
“If we don’t raise the alarm, the South will walk into our trench unopposed. That’s never happened. It could be the end of the war. The eternal front would never forgive us.”
“Right. That’s true too. Is it even possible to save the trench at this stage?”
Shanter seemed to harden the longer he stared at her. She twitched under the scrutiny, very Tachba of her, but endured it—she knew the Pollution was bringing him around to servitorship again. She felt another bleak touch of guilt that he would be happiest with an authority figure that needed him.
“We lose trench, Caulie, we get it back. Fair play. No lasting harm, so long as they don’t establish themselves and settle in.”
“So we have a little time?”
“Yes, ma’am, you’re right, we do have a little time.” Shanter sat up.
Either Shanter or the Pollution was agreeing with her. It was enough for now. “So let’s think this through together,” she said.
“Think-meh with what?” he said shortly. “I’m a Polluted scrag. You think. I’ll watch.”
“Fine.” But when she tried thinking, nothing happened. Her mind roiled with unproductive thoughts: horror, guilt—a soup of confusion.
Her tablet chimed again.
“Oh, thank goodness!” Jephia would know what to do. The screen brightened and Caulie’s thoughts immediately derailed. “Jephia, why are you a different color now?”
“Because I’m a genius!” The screen glowed purple and Jephia’s face was a mist of shifting purple hues that left her features recognizable. “It’s a security thing. I’ve routed my video comm through the tablet’s thermal registers. It will take the Gray House a little bit of time to understand what I’ve done. I always wanted to try this.”
“You’re a secret agent at heart. So your side is secure, but what about my side?”
Jephia shrugged. “Really, I think only my side can be compromised. You’re in the middle of nowhere, routing through a panther with hardened communications. If there’s a point of weakness, it’s my school tablet on a consumer network. Are you alone?”
Caulie glanced up and down the trench and found they had stumbled to a halt in an empty length. For a never-ending war against an implacable enemy, there seemed to be a lot of empty spaces. “Yes, in fact, I am.”
“When you say yes, does that mean your helpie is right next to you?”
She tilted the tablet to show Shanter sprawled on the ground.
“Oh, the poor, dear boy!” Her voice hardened: “Helpie, are you still in service?”
Shanter made a crude gesture at the tablet.
“Not nice.” Caulie quickly turned it away. “I found the cause of the dead battalion. We’re in trouble, Jeph. I mean the colony is in trouble. We could lose the planet from this.”
Jephia hesitated only a moment before nodding. “Yes. If there’s a time to speak openly, this is it. Too bad your helpie will hear it.”
“Helpie says you’re a harpy,” Shanter called from the ground. “Purple is not your color.”
“Jephia, Shanter, both of you, please.” Caulie bit her lip. She was, suddenly and absurdly, on the verge of tears again. “The South has gone and don
e it.”
“What do you mean, dear?”
“It’s what we talked about that one time. They have one.”
“Not—? You don’t mean that.” The heat vision showed Jephia’s face cooling. “We were drinking when we thought that up. It doesn’t count.”
“It’s worse than we ever imagined. They have a wizard.”
Chapter 17
Shanter’s steady stride brought them ever higher up the mountain. He refused to let Caulie walk, carrying her with implacably strong arms and hands that seemed programmed to land in only the most awkward places. Caulie complained until she noticed how other Tachba crossing their path, young men wearing messenger vests, were unsteady and even falling on the rocky terrain.
“Why is everybody else tripping in the dark and you aren’t?” she asked.
He didn’t answer. He searched the night like he was distracted, but she knew it was a ruse.
“Oh, you heard me, all right.” She waved a gloved hand in front of his nose. “Isn’t it lying if you refuse to answer an innocent question?”
He said, “Why are these scrags flopping around like drunken haverlambs? Because they’re peasants.”
“I thought we were beyond this, Shanter. You just answered your own question, not mine.”
“Thinking-meh how mysterious I am,” he muttered. Then he seemed to remember himself. “I mean to say, it’s just something from the olden days. The aristocracy held the mountains, which made us harder to visit and kill. The peasants swarmed on the valley floors, and we’d ride down to slaughter them every now and then. Family names in Ed-homse—if they end with ‘–ic’ they’re lowborn, otherwise they’re highborn, or immigrants.”
He noticed her assessing look, and added, “Which my name is Shantanthic Goldros. A proper Ed-homse name will have one name or the other with the ‘–ic’ sound. For me it’s my given name, not my family name.”
“The Goldroses are highborn?” Caulie couldn’t resist a smirk. “So that makes you Lord Goldros? Count Goldros?”
“Bringing it to today, it means my family house is in these mountains and I learned to walk in the dark. These lowlanders never learned the knack. La, it’s almost the only difference now.”
What the Thunder Said Page 14
