“We are undone, that is what the ArchGovernor of Callisto has said.” ArchGovernor Nero au Augustus peers around the table to see if we understand the gravity of his words. The aquiline angles of his face catch the ship’s warroom lights, hollowing his cheeks and giving him the look of a falcon peering down its beak. “And why should he not? The Core rallies against us. Neptune is in farOrbit—Vespasian’s ships will be six months in coming to reinforce us. All this while my own bannermen hide behind their shields in their cities on Mars, sending only their second- and third-born to aid us.” He looks at the two far members of the table. “Their feebleness cripples us. And now I sit here in council with my Praetors, my men of arms, and what grand schemes do they devise?”
Run. That’s what they say. We fled Luna a month ago. And we’ve not stopped running since, because the Sovereign was crafty and her forces beat us to Mars.
This is not how I thought it would go. But then again, none of this is my damn fault. Cautious bloody fools surround the ArchGovernor. Golds too frightened to lose all the favor and power they’ve gained in the past to risk any of it now. Worse, they squeeze me out. Alliances form against me. You can see it in their eyes, in their shoulders. My gain is their loss. Even those who followed my lead on Luna. Even those I saved from certain death. They do the same to the tackal, and they think it a victory he is not here in this room bickering with them. Their mistake.
I sit ten chairs down from my master at the massive cherry oak table in the warroom of his flagship, the six-kilometer dreadnought Invictus. The ceiling is forty meters above us. The room overly grand and imposing. A carved relief of a lion glares out from the center of the table. Over forty places are empty. Trusted advisors gone, having abandoned Augustus like rats from a sinking ship. Those with us are Pliny, Praetor Kavax, his son Daxo, and a half a hundred of Augustus’s most powerful Praetors, Legates, and bannermen. They do not glare at me. Nothing so childish. These Golds preside over a billion souls. So they simply ignore me and push doubt into Augustus about my ideas.
“Are we in agreement, then, with the ArchGovernor of Callisto?
Are we undone?” Augustus demands.
Before any can answer, the grand doors hiss open, retracting into the marbled walls. Mustang strolls through, tossing an apple hand to hand.
“Apologies for my tardiness!” She beams at her father, approaches him and gives him a too-gracious kiss on his lionhead ring.
“I sent word over an hour ago,” Augustus says.
“Oh?” Mustang spares a look at Pliny. “I must have missed it. I only knew you were here because I went looking for my brother to play a game of chess.” She laughs at the joke. Only the Telemanuses get it. Sighing, she makes her way to the far end of the table, squeezing Daxo and Kavax on their shoulders as she passes. Kavax greets her with rumbling, warm words. She sits and kicks her military boots up. “Did I miss anything? Of course I didn’t. Dithering as always?”
Her father’s cheek twitches. “This is not a stable.” He eyes her boots. Sighing, she brings her boots down and shines the apple on her black sleeve.
She’s one of a very few women in the room. Agrippina au tulii should be here, but it was her betrayal that depleted Augustus’s fleet of the numbers he needed to capture Mars quickly. And it was her betrayal that’s made Augustus put men on Victra to make sure her loyalty to him is true. It took nearly all of my clout with the man to keep her out of the brig.
We’ve been chased from the Core worlds here, far beyond the orbital path of Mars. Our asteroid mining operations are seized. Augustus’s assets frozen. And his cities, those that did not surrender already to the Sovereign, are besieged. Not to mention there are bounties on our heads. The old men don’t like that I have the second-highest bounty behind Augustus.
“Before we were interrupted,” Augustus continues, “I believe someone was justifying their pos—” Snap. His voice falls away as Mustang takes a loud bite of her apple. She looks around at the annoyed faces. I stifle a laugh.
“My liege.” Pliny leans forward. “I’m afraid there is no alternative but to continue our tactical retreat. If things continue in this manner, we will lose. And you, my liege, will be tried for”—Snap. He flinches before finishing—“treason.” He looks around the table to his bought-and-paid-for allies. “There is but one path available to us.”
“Continue to run with our fleet till Vespasian’s reinforcements arrive from Neptune,” Augustus murmurs. “In six months.”
The Politico nods. “Or surrender.”
“Would that you had killed Octavia when you had the chance, boy,” Kavax says.
“If I had, everyone here would be dead,” I reply. Daxo nods. “He meant no offense. Wistful thinking.”
“Why didn’t you kill Octavia?” Pliny squints at me skeptically. “I couldn’t have. I was in a room with Aja au Grimmus.
Perhaps if you were there, you could have done better, but I’m a mortal man.”
The Praetors who know their business laugh.
“Even Lorn au Arcos wouldn’t have dared,” Augustus mutters. “And I once saw him kill Stained without a razor. Darrow did as he could.” He turns his attention on me. “Do you think we should run now as well?”
“It makes you look weak.”
“We are weak,” Pliny replies. “But this makes him look wise.” “Wise men read books about history, Pliny. Strong men write
them.”
“Stop quoting Lorn au Arcos!” Pliny snaps. “I thought you’d be open to all knowledge.”
“Your many years of life no doubt make you an authority on innumerable things,” Pliny says melodically. “Do recycle more maxims from old warriors so we may learn more of life and wisdom.”
“This isn’t about me, dear Pliny. So cut the ad hominems.” I
gesture to the ArchGovernor “This is about our liege. This is about his fate.”
“How theatrical of you to note, Darrow.” Augustus rubs his eyes, tired of our bickering.
“The young can’t help but be eager,” Pliny continues. “But we must remember, there is no dishonor in prudence, my liege. Six months’ delay is a small price to pay for victory.” He splays out his long-fingered hands. “In fact, time is our friend. Octavia cannot afford to scour the Solar System for us. Not with the Senate so divided at home. Her grasping hand will be like iron. It will rake along the backs of the other ArchGovernors, and it will not be long before those who follow her begin to chafe at her orders. They will learn why we fight against her; namely that she is not our representative, but is instead an Empress. This will give us time. Which will give us power. Which will give us the ability to sue for profitable peace.”
Praetor Kavax slams his fist on the table. “Piss on this.”
A titan of a man, he’s carved more from rock than flesh. His neck is so thick that I couldn’t wrap even my hands around it. Unlike most Golds, he has shaved his head and permitted his beard to grow. It is thick and dyed blood-red. When the lights dim, it glows like a brand in the night. Only three fingers remain on his left hand. They say his son, Daxo, bit them off as a child. Though Daxo always smiles and with his soft voice suggests that it was his younger brother, Pax. The Telemanuses are the only Praetors in the room not beholden, in one way or another, to Pliny. I like Kavax.
“It chafes my balls. This Pixie talk chafes my balls!” Kavax sneers. “We should not be in this position. Give me leave, my liege, and I will take a thousand of my guard to treat with the cowards who did not answer your summons. Apologies, my darling,” he whispers to his favorite fox, Sophocles, a red-gold,
sharp-eared thing that flinches at the loud sound of its master’s voice. Sophocles eats little jelly beans from Kavax’s massive palm.
We wait for Kavax’s attention to return to his words.
“You were saying, Kavax?” Augustus prods with a quick smile he reserves for his favorites.
“Father.” Daxo nudges the larger man.
Kavax looks up, startled. “Oh. And when their balls are ripped off and made to dangle from their own earlobes, others will remember you are ruler of Mars and they will beg to aid you, Nero.”
Satisfied, he goes back to feeding Sophocles jelly beans.
“And they will know that we few lords were found loyal,” Daxo quickly adds, waving to the Golds around the table, who nod appreciatively. Daxo sucks on a stick of cinnamon. He smiles even more than Pax, though his are half as grand and twice as mischievous. The only frown I’ve yet seen on his face was when he saw the tackal at the gala.
That particular grudge will not fade. Nor should it. The tackal took their Pax. In reply, the Telemanuses demanded his head. In turn, Augustus banished the tackal from Mars. But now war brings new complications, new necessities. And the tackal seems to have been forgiven in his father’s eyes, if not those of the Telemanuses. I watch them carefully. They are not stupid, despite the guise they enjoy wearing. I only hope they remain ignorant of my alliance with Pax’s killer.
“All should be reminded that fealty is not easily cast off,” Daxo finishes, his voice astonishingly cordial. “A visit from my father and my sisters would remind other bannermen of their duties to you in times of war.” He tilts his head playfully, allowing us to admire the workmanship of the gold angels engraved into his scalp. “It is in the Telemanus nature to leave an impression. Perhaps it would swell our ranks.”
“My thunder lords.” Augustus smiles. “Ever eager for violence.” He traces a finger along the back of his long left hand. “But no. That reminder must wait. Punishment can only be doled out in victory. It would look petty, the sad flailing of a drowning man, considering my fleet is scattered and my legions trapped behind the shields of my cities.”
He looks to Pliny and asks how the rest of our trade allies fare. I sneak a glance at Mustang. She notices and raises an eyebrow at me, wondering when we shall begin.
“All our Politicos have been received,” Pliny says slowly. Today,
Pliny wears a very serious coat of black lipstick. “As you know, my Politicos and I conferred after we fled from Luna. And we developed a rather advanced theoretical breakdown of potential alliance shifts—”
“With computers?” Kavax asks with a booming laugh.
“With computers,” Pliny continues, irritated. “Simulations were performed by my Green analysts. Of the Galilean Moons—Io, Calisto, Ganymede, and Europa—none will cast their lot with us. Neither in simulation nor actuality.”
“Hardly surprising,” a hawkish Praetor mutters. “We had the same results from the moons of Saturn.”
Pliny continues. “Naturally, they fear the repercussions of choosing the wrong side. The Saturn Governors are a lost cause for now. They see Rhea’s corpse in their sky every day. In the Galilean sector, the presence of Lorn au Arcos on Europa is a problem. His … isolationist political leanings have proven infectious to the ArchGovernors of tupiter’s moons, particularly since his private army is twice again as large as any of the ArchGovernors’.”
“Isolation? More like retirement.” Augustus sighs. “Perhaps he has the right of it.”
“You would go mad, Father,” Mustang says from the end of the table. “No scheming, no plots or stratagems. tust family and time to spend with Adrius and me.”
His smile is tight, unreadable. “How well my daughter knows me.”
“What worries me most,” Pliny says, “is that the Galileans, in
their own words, doubt the validity of our cause.”
“That’s because we don’t have a cause,” I moan, remembering my role. “At least not so far as anyone else cares.”
“Explain,” the ArchGovernor demands.
“He’s getting to it, Father,” Mustang says. “Darrow plays for drama.”
I make a show of looking around the room. “It’s safe to say that the gentle Golds in this room understand human nature. Yes? Even if we did not, what motivates us? A cause? No. None of us have a cause. Freedom? Liberty? tustice?” I roll my eyes. “Hardly. What do we care that the Sovereign acts like an Empress? What do we care about the Compact and the liberties it extends Golds? Nothing.
“This is about power. It is always about power. We fight her because we attached ourselves to a star, the ArchGovernor. But the star falls, fades …”
Kavax half rises from his seat. “Don’t insult your lord as if—” “As if he’s what? A fool? He’s not, so come off it. The Bellona
take Mars. They will get the contracts, the government positions. We will be pushed to the fringe, dead or irrelevant.” My voice plays with the audience. “Power is the only thing of worth in this world. Consider Tactus au Rath—a loyal ally of mine for three years. But as soon as my star began to fall, he stole from me and departed out the back door. A thief in the night.
“How many empty seats are here that were filled before Luna? So many men and women who would have bled for Augustus. So many men and women who would have given their eyes for him when he sat on his dais in Agea. Now …”
I dust off my hands.
“We are losing. To run is to wither and die. If we want to rise again, draw the Galileans to our cause, marshal the Governors of Saturn to our banners, then we show them we are not powerless. Show them we drip with power. We are arbiters of life and death. We, not the Bellona, are the House of Mars.”
Pliny begins to say something, but Augustus motions him to be quiet.
“What would you propose?”
“The Galilean families are soft for Luna for one reason. Commerce. Ganymede has her shipyards. Calisto is little more than a factory of Grays and Obsidians for the Society’s armies. Europa is an oceanworld of banking and deep-sea mining and vacation homes. Io is the breadbasket to any world along tupiter’s orbital path. They depend too much on commerce with the Core to run to our side. And even the basest child knows what
happened when the Ash Lord descended upon Rhea.” The Praetors nod along. “So we must impress them. We must terrify them so that they know our power can touch them at any time and they cannot risk alienating us.”
“How?” Augustus asks. They’re all on the hook now.
I set my razor on the table so they know what business I propose. “We take their ships. We take their children. We take them as allies as the Spartans took their wives. By force, in the night.”
Silence forms around me. Then comes the uproar. Pliny lets his Praetors slash at the idea. His energy he spends whispering in Augustus’s ear. I glance at Mustang, but she watches the others, gauging them.
“Boasts.” The ArchGovernor quiets the room and readdresses me. “I’ve not heard a plan.”
“One plan. Two parts.”
I touch a datapad, and the holo the tackal’s agents gave me expands over the table to show Ganymede. The moon shines bright with blues and greens from its oceans and forests, brilliant against the marbled white and orange of tupiter’s vaporous surface. Gray shipyards ring the moon. I zoom in so that they stretch across and above the table. I list the ships registered, highlighting one in particular. “Ganymede has a moonBreaker.”
Whistles from around the table. “A moonBreaker?” someone whispers.
“Is this information reliable?” Augustus asks.
I nod. “Very.” My fingers twitch, rotating the image of the docks. In the shadow of an orbital dock floats a ship like my Pax, but newer, larger. Black as night, and eight kilometers in length. “The Sovereign herself commissioned it as a present for her grandson.”
Kavax nearly drools at the sight of the monster of a ship. “What a loving woman.”
“Assuming this is not contrived.” Pliny inspects the holo. “How did you come upon the information?”
“Little birds whisper into my ears too.” “Don’t be coy. It is important.”
“My sources are mine, just as yours are your own, Pliny.”
“So you want to steal the moonBreaker from Ganymede?” Pliny asks. “That’s an act of war.”
I chuckle. “No. You misunderstand. I want to steal all of the ships.”
