Morning Star

“If this is true, why would you tell me?” I ask.

“Because Mars is my home too, Darrow. My family has been there as long as yours. My mother is still there in our home. Whatever the Jackal’s long-term strategy is, the judgment of the Sovereign is that he will use the weapons here if his back is to the wall.”

“You’re afraid we might win,” I realize.

“When it was Sevro’s war, no. The Sons of Ares was doomed. But now? Look what’s happening.” He looks me up and down. “We’ve lost containment. Octavia doesn’t know where I am. Whether or not Aja is alive. She has no eyes on this. The Jackal might know she tried to betray him to his sister. He’s a wild dog. If you provoke him, he will bite.” He lowers his voice. “You might be able to survive that, Darrow, but can Mars?”

“Five hundred nuclear warheads?” Sevro whispers. “Holy bloodydamn shit. Tell me you’re joking. Go on.”

Dancer sits quietly at the warroom table, kneading his temples.

“It’s bullshit,” Holiday grunts from the wall. “If he has them, he’d have used them.”

“Let’s leave the deductions to the individuals who have actually met the man, shall we?” Victra says. “Adrius doesn’t function like a normal human.”

“That’s for damn sure,” Sevro says.

“Still, it is a solid question,” Dancer says, annoyed at the presence of so many Golds, particularly Mustang who stands beside me. “If he has them, why hasn’t he used them?”

“Because that sort of escalation will hurt him almost as much as it hurts us,” I say. “And if he uses them, the Sovereign will have every excuse to replace him.”

“Or he doesn’t have them,” Quicksilver says dismissively. He floats before us, blue holoPixels shimmering over a display panel. “It’s a ploy. Bellona knows what you care about, Darrow. He’s plucking your heartstrings with notions of oblivion. It’s bullshit. My techs would have seen major ripples if he was moving missiles. And I would have heard about plutonium enriching if the Sovereign had them built.”

“Unless they’re old missiles,” I say. “Lots of relics lying about.”

“And it’s a big solar system,” Mustang says evenly.

“I’ve got big ears,” Quicksilver replies.

“Had,” Victra says. “They’re whittling them down as we speak.”

The leaders of the rebellion sit in a semi-circle in front of a holoprojector which displays asteroid S-1988. It’s a barren hunk of rock, part of the Karin sub-family of the Koronis Family of asteroids in the Main Belt between Mars and Jupiter. The Koronis asteroids are the base for heavy mining operations by an Earth-run energy consortium and home to several disreputable astral way stations for smugglers and pirates, most notably 208 Lacrimosa, where Sevro refueled on his journey from Pluto to Mars. The locals call the smuggler’s cove Our Lady of Sorrows, where life is cheaper than a kilo of iced helium and a gram of demonDust, or so he says. He’s unusually quiet about the place and his time there.

Gold warroom meetings are held in circles or rectangles because people facing one another are more likely to engage in intellectual conflict than people sitting side by side. Golds relish that. I’m trying a different tack, having my friends face the problem—the holoprojector, so if they want to argue with one another, they have to crane their necks to do it.

“It’s a shame we don’t have the Sovereign’s oracles,” Mustang says. “Strap one on his wrist and see how forthcoming Cassius really is.”

“Sorry we don’t quite have the resources you’re used to, domina,” Dancer says.

“That’s not what I meant.”

“We could torture him,” Sevro says. He’s in the middle of the table cleaning his fingernails with a blade. Victra leans against the wall behind him, flinching in annoyance with each flake of nail that falls onto the table. Dancer is to Sevro’s left. The meter-tall hologram of Quicksilver glows to his right, between us. Having declared Phobos a free city on behalf of the Rising, he functions as its Governor and now hunches over a small stack of thumb-sized heart oysters with a platinum octopus shucking knife, arranging the shells in five even mounds. If he’s nervous about the Jackal’s reprisals against his station, he doesn’t look it. Sefi sweats underneath her tribal furs as she stalks along the perimeter of the table like a trapped animal, making Dancer shift in agitation.

“You want the truth?” Sevro asks. “Just give me seventeen minutes and a screwdriver.”

“Should we really be having this talk with her here?” Victra asks of Mustang.

“She’s on our side,” I say.

“Are you sure?” Dancer asks.

“She was crucial to recruiting the Obsidians,” I say. “She’s connected us with Orion.” I made contact with the woman after speaking with Cassius. She’s burning hard with the Pax and a sizable remnant of my old fleet to meet me. Seems impossible I’d ever see the ornery Blue again, or that ship which was the first place to feel like home since Lykos. “Because of Mustang, we’ll have a real navy. She preserved my command. She kept Orion at the helm. Would she have done that if she didn’t have the same aims as us?”

“Which are?” Dancer asks.

“Defeating Lune and the Jackal,” she says.

“That’s just the surface of what we want,” Dancer says.

“She’s working with us,” I stress.

“For now,” Victra says. “She’s a clever girl. Maybe she wants to use us to eliminate her enemies? Place herself in a position of power. Maybe she wants Mars. Maybe she wants more.” Seems only yesterday my council of Golds was discussing whether or not Victra was worth trusting. Roque spoke up for her when no one else would. The irony is apparently lost on Victra. Or maybe she remembers Mustang’s vocal distrust of her intentions a year ago and has decided to repay the old debt.

“I hate to agree with the Julii,” Dancer says, “but she’s right in this. Augustans are players. Not one’s been born that hasn’t been.” Apparently Dancer wasn’t impressed with Mustang’s lack of transparency earlier. Mustang expected this. In fact, she asked to stay in her room, away from this so she wouldn’t detract from my plan. But in order for this to work, in order for there to be some way to piece things together in the end, there must be cooperation.