Golden Son

“Goryhell.” Mustang bursts out laughing. “Are you insane, Darrow?”

Augustus frowns. “Virginia, control yourself.”

“I am under control, Father. Your attack dog isn’t.”

“You forget your place.”

“And you forget how Claudius looked, dead on the ground. Leto too. Do you want that for the rest of us?” She regrets the words as soon as they leave her lips.

“Shut your mouth, girl.” Augustus shudders with wrath. His bony fingers clutch the edge of the table till it creaks. “You’ve been unhinged since you let that Bellona boy between your legs. Walking in here like a Pixie pomp. Eating that apple like a child. Stop being a sideshow whore and live up to your name.”

“Like your remaining son?” she asks.

He takes a long, calming breath. “You will be quiet or you will leave.”

Mustang grinds her teeth together, but stays uncharacteristically silent. Pliny’s lips curl in a rather pleased smile.

“Don’t blame her, my goodmen, if she’s already tired of war,” Pliny says, softly placing a knife in a wounded enemy. “After so many nocturnal summits spent engaging in horizontal diplomacy with the Bellona, her stamina isn’t what it used to be.”

Kavax lunges at Pliny. Daxo pulls him back just in time. But it’s Mustang who is first to speak over the uproar.

“I can defend my own honor, my goodman. But from Pliny, such insults are to be expected After all, I would be bitter too if my wife bent over backwards to make sure so many of your young mercenaries learned how to properly sheathe their swords.”

Pliny stares angrily at her as she rises, continuing, “I left Mars to pursue knowledge in the Sovereign’s court. I did not abandon my family, as so many of you have suggested. And I’m not sorry I left and missed conversations such as this. For you goodmen seem good only at one thing, and that is bickering. Yet you quickly come to agreement upon me as an item of ridicule. Curious. Is it because you see me as a threat to your power? Or is it simply because I’m a woman?” She peers at the few scattered women around the table. “If that is the case, you forget yourselves. This Society was founded by men and women based on merit.

“The dear Politico Pliny is right, however: I would have avoided this war. In fact, I tried. Why else do you think I allowed Cassius au Bellona to court me? But war is here. And I will protect my family again from all threats, those from without and from within.”

Augustus lets slip the smallest, barest of smiles, a twin to the first. His love is the most conditional I’ve ever seen. How quickly he can call his daughter a whore, then smile as she reclaims what power she lost in the room. Suddenly, she matters.

“Then what do you think of my plan?” I ask.

“I think it is dangerous. It spreads the war without ensuring our benefit. It is immoral and sets dangerous precedent. But then again, war is inherently immoral. So we must simply decide how far we want to go.”

“You know Octavia better than I,” I say. “How far will she go?”

Mustang is quiet for a moment. “If we have a victory and sue for peace either from a position of strength or weakness, she will accept the overture.…”

“You see!” Pliny beams.

Mustang isn’t finished. “She will suggest a neutral location. And on that day when we go to make peace, she will do everything in her power to kill all of us.”

Pliny looks back and forth between us, realizing how easily he’s been played.

“So there is no going back? Win or die?” I ask flatly.

“Indeed, Darrow,” she says with a smile. “Win or die.”

“It seems you’ve been outmaneuvered, Pliny. We move forward with Darrow’s plan.” Augustus stands. “Tomorrow, Praetor Licenus will take command of this vessel and its fleet and lead the Sovereign’s fleet on a chase, while I take a small strike group of corvettes and frigates to the Gas Giants. With them, I will raid the shipyards of Ganymede.”

“I will go with you, my liege!” Kavax booms. His fox jumps off his lap at the noise to tremble under the table.

“No.”

Kavax’s face falls. “No? But, Nero … the defenses there—battle stations, destroyers, torchShips—they will shred any force of corvettes you bring.” His large hands gesture imploringly. “Let us do this for you.”

“You forget who I am, my friend.”

“Apologies, I did not mean …”

Augustus waves the apology away and turns to Mustang. “Daughter, you will take what elements of the fleet you need to execute the second portion of Darrow’s plan.”

Watching Pliny now is like watching a child try to hold on to a handful of sand. He doesn’t understand the course things have taken. But he’s not fool enough to make his play now. He will wait in the grass like the snake he is.

The ArchGovernor turns to me. “Darrow, what did you say to me before you shed Cassius’s blood?”

“I said that you should be King of Mars.”

“My friends.” Augustus sets his thin hands down on the table, fingers rigid. “Darrow has demonstrated powers none of you possess. He predicts what I want. I want to be king. Make me so. Dismissed.”

The room empties. I wait with Augustus. He wants a private word.

Mustang brushes close to me as she passes, winking playfully.

“Nice speech,” I mutter.

“Nice plan.”

She squeezes my hand and then she is gone.

“In league again,” Augustus observes. He gestures me to close the door. I sit near him. The hard lines of his face deepen as he stares into my eyes. From a distance, the lines are invisible. But this close, they are the things that make his face. Loss gives a man lines like this, reminding me, This is the man you do not anger. The man you do not owe.

“We can do away with righteous indignation before it finds a place on your tongue.” He steeples his fingers, examining the manicured cuticles. “The question is simple, and you will answer it: Are you a demokrat?”

I had not expected this. I try not to look around nervously.

“No, my liege. I am no demokrat.”`

“Not a Reformer? Not someone who wants to alter our Compact to create a more fair, more decent society?”

“Man is organized properly now,” I say, pausing, “except for a few notable exceptions.”