The Rubicon Beacons are a sphere of transponders, each as large as two Obsidian, floating in space one million kilometers beyond Earth’s core, encircling the innermost domain of the Sovereign. For five hundred years, no foreign fleet has passed beyond their borders. Now, two months and three weeks after news of the destruction of the invincible Sword Armada reaches the Core, eight weeks after I proclaimed that we sailed on Mars, seventeen days after the Sovereign’s declaration of martial law in all Society cities, the Red Armada approaches Luna, sailing past the Rubicon Beacons without firing a shot.
Telemanus torchShips race ahead at the vanguard to clear mines and scan for any traps left by Society forces. They’re followed by Orion’s Obsidian-filled heavy destroyers, painted with the all-seeing eyes of the ice spirits, then by the Julii fleet with Victra’s weeping sun adorning the heavy dreadnought, the Pandora, the forces of the Reformers—the daughters-in-law of Lorn au Arcos come for justice and the gold and black ships bearing the lion of Augustus led by the battle-scarred Dejah Thoris. And finally my own vessels led by the greatest ship ever built and stolen, the indomitable white Morning Star painted with a seven-kilometer-long red scythe on her port and starboard sides. The holes we carved in her with our clawDrills are not mended all through the ship. But the armor has been replaced along the outer hull. The Pax died to give her to us. And what a prize she is. We ran out of paint on the bottom scythe, so it’s a sloppy crescent moon, the symbol of House Lune. The men think it’s a good omen. An accidental promise to Octavia au Lune that we have her marked.
War has come to the Core.
For three days they’ve known I was coming. We could not cover our entire approach from their sensors, but the chaos around the planet shows how unprepared they are for it. It is a civilization in turmoil. The Ash Lord has arrayed the Scepter Armada, the pride of the Core, around Luna in defensive formation. Caravans of trading vessels from the Rim clutter the Via Appia above the northern Lunar hemisphere, while backlogs of civilian vessels stagger their way back along the Via Flaminia, waiting to pass through inspection on the colossal Flaminius astroDock before their descent into Earth’s atmosphere. But as we cross the Rubicon Beacons and encroach farther into Luna space, the vessels hurl themselves into a frenzy. Many bursting from their ordered queue to race for Venus, others trying to pass the Docks entirely and burn for Earth. They flare as silver and white Society fighters and fast-moving gun frigates shred engines and hulls. Dozens of vessels die to maintain order.
We’re outnumbered, still vastly outgunned, but initiative is on our side, and so is the fear that all civilizations have of barbarian invaders.
The first dance of the Battle of Luna has begun.
“Attention unidentified fleet…” A brittle Copper voice echoes through an open frequency. “This is Luna Defense Command: you are in possession of stolen property and in violation of Societal deep-space boundary regulations. Identify yourself and intentions with all haste.”
“Fire a long range missile at the Citadel,” I say.
“That’s a million kilometers away…,” the gunBlue says. “It’ll be shot down.”
“He bloodywell knows that,” Sevro says. “Follow the order.”
It took a campaign of counterintelligence not just in our transmissions to Sons cells throughout the Core, but among our ships and commanders to bring us here unnoticed. The Jackal will not be in position to help the Sovereign, nor will the Classis Venetum, the 4th Fleet of Venus. Or the Classis Libertas, the 5th Fleet of the inner Belt, which the Sovereign sent to Mars to aid the Jackal. At full burn all the ships will be three weeks away at current orbit. The lie worked. The spies in my ship leaked misinformation about our plans, just as I’d hoped.
That is the peril of a solar empire: all the power in all the worlds means nothing it if is in the wrong place.
Twenty minutes later, my missile is shot down by orbital defense platforms.
“New direct link incoming,” the comBlue says behind me. “It’s got Praetorian tags.”
“Main holo,” I say.
A Gold Praetorian with an aquiline face and gray at the temples of his short-cropped hair materializes in front of me. The image will appear on all bridges and holoscreens in the fleet. “Darrow of Lykos,” he asks in an impeccably well-bred Luna accent. “Are you in possession of imperium over this war fleet?”
“What need have I of your traditions?” I ask.
“Very well,” the Gold says, maintaining propriety even now. “I am ArchLegate Lucius au Sejanus of the Praetorian Guard, First Cohort.” I know of Sejanus. He’s an eerie, efficient man. “I am come with a diplomatic envoy to your coordinates,” he says dryly. “I request you stay further aggression and give my shuttle access to your flagship so we might relate the Sovereign and Senate’s intentions in…”
“Denied,” I say.
“I beg your pardon?”
“If any Society ship comes toward my fleet, they will be fired upon. If the Sovereign wishes to speak with me, then let her do it herself. Not through a lackey’s mouth. Tell the hag we’re here for war. Not words.”
My ship throbs with activity. Told only three days ago of our true destination, the men are filled with madcap excitement. There’s something immortal to attacking Luna. Win or lose, we’ve forever stained the legacy of Gold. And in the minds of my men, and in the chatter we pick up over the coms from the Core planets and moons, there is real fear in the air. For the first time in centuries, Gold has shown weakness. Breaking the Sword Armada has spread the rebellion faster than my speeches ever could.
Soldiers salute as they pass me in the hall, making their way to their troop carriers and leechCraft. The squads are predominantly Red and defected Grays, but I see Green battletechs, Red machinists, and Obsidian scouts and heavy infantry in each capsule as well. I resend the shuttle flight clearance order to the Morning Star ’s flight controller with my authorization code. It’s accepted and cleared. Most days I’d trust the order to stand on its own, but today I want to be sure, so I make my way to the bridge to confirm in person. The Red marine captain responsible for the security of the bridge shouts his men to attention when I enter. More than fifty armored soldiers salute me. The Blues in their pits continue in their operations. Orion’s at the forward observation post where Roque once stood. Meaty hands clasped behind her back. Skin nearly as dark as her black uniform. She turns to me with those large pale eyes and that nasty white smile.
“Reaper, the fleet is nearly ready.”
I greet her warmly and join her in looking out through the glass viewports “How does it look?”
“The Ash Lord is pulled up in defensive array. He seems to think we intend an Iron Rain before moving him off the moon. Sharp assumption. He has no reason to come to us. All the rest of the ships in Core will be headed here. When they get here we’ll be the cockroach pinned between the ground and the hammer. He’s assumed correctly we’ll rush the engagement.”
“The Ash Lord knows war,” I say.
“That he does.” She glances at her datapad. “What’s this I hear about a flight clearance for a sarpedon -class shuttle from HB Delta?”
I knew she’d notice. And I don’t want to explain myself to her now. Not everyone is as compassionate toward Cassius as I, even with Sevro sparing his life.
“I’m sending an emissary to meet with a group of Senators,” I lie.
“We both know you’re not,” she says. “What’s going on?”
I step closer so no one can overhear us. “If Cassius remains in the fleet while we go to war, someone will try to get past the guards and slit his throat. There’s too much hate for the Bellona for him to stay here.”
“Then hide him in another cell. Don’t release him,” she says. “He’ll just go back to them. Rejoin the war.”
“He won’t.”
She looks behind me to ensure we’re not being overheard. “If the Obsidians find out…”
“This is exactly why I didn’t tell anyone,” I say. “I’m releasing him. You clear that shuttle. You let it go. I need you to promise me.” Her lips make thin, hard line. “Promise me.” She nods and looks back to Luna. As always, I feel she knows more than she lets on.
“I promise. But you be careful, boy. You still owe me a parrot, remember.”
I meet Sevro in the hall outside the high security prisoner lockup. He’s sitting atop the orange cargo crate and its floating gravRig drinking from a flask, left hand rested on the scorcher in his leg holster. The hall’s quieter than it should be given its guests, but it’s in the main hangars and gun stations and engines and armories where my ship pulses with activity. Not here on the prison deck. “What took you?” Sevro asks. He’s in his black fatigues too, stretching uncomfortably against his new combat vest. His boots click together as his legs dangle.
“Orion was asking questions on the bridge about the flight clearance.”
“Shit. She figure out we were letting the eagle fly?”
“She promised to let it go.”
“She better. And she better keep her trap shut. If Sefi finds out…”
“I know,” I say. “And so does Orion. She won’t tell her.”
“If you say so.” Sevro wrinkles his face and downs the last of his flask as he glances down the hall. Mustang approaches.
“Guards are redeployed,” she says. “Marine patrols are diverted from hall 13-c. Cassius is clear to the hangar.”
“Good. You sure about this?” I ask, touching her hand. She nods.
“Not entirely, but that’s life.”
“Sevro? You still prime?”
Sevro hops down from the crate. “Obviously. I’m here, ain’t I?”
Sevro helps me maneuver the gravRig through the brig’s doors. The guard station is deserted. Food wrappers and tobacco dip cups all that remain of the Sons team who guarded the prisoners. Sevro follows me from the entrance down into the decagon room of duroglass cells, whistling the tune he made for Pliny.
“If your leg’s a little wet…,” he sings as we stop before Cassius’s cell. Antonia’s cell is across from his. Her face swollen from her beating, she watches us hatefully without moving from her cell’s cot. Sevro knocks on the duroglass separating us from Cassius.
“Wakey wakey, Sir Bellona.”
Cassius wipes his eyes of sleep and sits up from his bed, taking in Sevro and I, but addressing Mustang. “What’s going on?”
“We’ve arrived at Luna,” I say.
“Not Mars?” Cassius asks in surprise. Antonia shifts in her cot behind us, just as startled by the news as Cassius appears to be.
“Not Mars.”
“You’re actually attacking Luna?” Cassius murmurs. “You’re insane. You don’t have the ships. How do you even plan to get past the shields?”
“Don’t you worry about that, sweetheart,” Sevro says. “We got our ways. But soon hot metal’s gonna be sliding through this ship. And someone’s likely gonna come in here and pop you in the head. Darrow here gets all sad thinkin’ of that. And I don’t like sad Darrow.” Cassius just stares at us like we’re mad. “He still doesn’t get it.”
“When you said you were done with this war, did you mean it?” I ask.
“I don’t understand….”
“It’s pretty bloodydamn simple, Cassius,” Mustang says. “Yes or no?”
“Yes,” Cassius says from his cot. Antonia sits up to watch. “I am. How could I not be? It’s taken everything from me. All for people who only care about themselves.”
“Well?” I ask Sevro.
“Oh, please.” Sevro snorts. “You think that’s going to satisfy me?”
“What game are you playing at?” Cassius asks.
“Ain’t no game, boyo. Darrow wants me to let you out.” Cassius’s eyes widen. “But I needa know you aren’t gonna come try to kill us. You’re all about honor and blood debts, so I need you to swear an oath so I can sleep soundly.”
“I killed your father….”
“You really should stop reminding me of that.”
“If you stay here, we can’t protect you,” I say. “I believe the worlds still need Cassius au Bellona. But there’s no place for you here. And there’s no place for you with the Sovereign. If you give me your oath, on your honor that you will leave this war behind you, I’ll give you your freedom.”
Antonia bursts out laughing behind us. “This is hilarious. They’re toying with you, Cassi. Just plucking you like a harp.”
“Be quiet, you poisonous little brat,” Mustang snaps.
Cassius eyes Mustang, judging our proposal. “You agreed to this?”
“It was my idea,” she says. “None of this is your fault, Cassius. I was cruel to you, and I’m sorry for that. I know you wanted revenge on Darrow. On me…”
“Not on you, not ever on you.”
Mustang flinches. “…but I know you’ve seen what revenge brings. I know you’ve seen what Octavia really is. What my brother really is. You’re only guilty of trying to protect your family. You don’t deserve to die here.”
“You really want me to go?” he asks.
“I want you to live,” she says. “And yes. I want you to go, and never come back.”
“But…go where?” he asks.
“Anywhere but here.”
Cassius swallows, searching himself. Not just seeking to understand what he owes honor or duty, but trying to imagine a world without her. I know the horrible loneliness he feels now even as we give him freedom. Life without love is the worst prison of all. But he licks his lips and nods to Mustang, not to me. “On my father, on Julian, I promise not to raise arms against any of you. If you let me go, I will leave. And I will never come back.”
“You coward.” Antonia punches the glass of her cell. “You gorydamn sniveling little whipped worm…”
I nudge Sevro. “Still your call.”
He tugs the hairs of his little goatee. “Ah hell, you better be right about this, you pricklicks.” Digging into his pocket he pulls out the a magnetic key card and Cassius’s cell door unlocks with a heavy thunk.
“Then there’s a shuttle waiting for you in the auxiliary hangar on this level,” Mustang says evenly. “It’s been cleared to fly. But you have to go now.”
“That means now, shithead,” Sevro says.
“They’ll pop you in the back of the head!” Antonia is saying. “You traitor.”
Cassius puts a tentative hand on the cell door, as if he’s afraid he’ll push and find it locked and we’ll laugh at him and all the hope we’ve given him will be ripped away. But he has faith and, steeling his face, he pushes. The cell’s door swings outward. Cassius walks out to join us. He holds out his hands to be cuffed.
“You’re free, man,” Sevro slurs, rapping the orange box heavily with his knuckles, “but you gotta get in the box so we can wheel you outta here without anyone seeing.”
“Of course.” He pauses and turns back to me to extend a hand. I take it, a strange feeling of kinship rising in me. “Goodbye, Darrow.”
“Good luck, Cassius.”
And for Mustang he pauses, wanting to reach out and wrap his arms around her, but she merely sticks out a hand, cold even now to him. He looks at her hand and shakes his head, not accepting her gesture. “We’ll always have Luna,” he says.
“Goodbye, Cassius.”
“Goodbye.”
He goes to the crate, which Sevro has opened and looks inside. Hesitating there, wanting to say something to Sevro, perhaps thank him one last time. “I don’t know if your father was right. But he was brave.” He extends a hand to Sevro as he did me. “I’m sorry that he’s not here.”
Sevro blinks hard at the hand, wanting to hate it. This does not come easy for him. He’s never been a gentle soul. But he does his best and he takes the outstretched hand. They shake. But something feels wrong. Cassius won’t let go. His face is cold, eyes unforgiving. His body rotates. So fast I can’t stop him from jerking back on Sevro’s hand, pulling my friend’s smaller body forward toward him just as he swivels his hip, bringing Sevro to his right armpit like they’re dancing, so he can strip Sevro’s pistol from his leg holster. Sevro stumbles, fumbling for the weapon but it is already gone. Cassius shoves him off and stands behind him with the scorcher pressed to his spine. Sevro’s eyes are huge, staring at me in fear. “Darrow…”
“Cassius no!” I shout.
“This is my duty.”
“Cassius…” Mustang takes a step forward. Outstretched hand trembling. “He saved your life…Please.”
“On your knees,” Cassius says to us. “On your gorydamn knees.” I feel myself teetering on the edge of a precipice, the darkness spreading out before me. Whispering to have me back. I can’t reach for my razor. Cassius could easily shoot me down before I even pull it. Mustang goes to her knees and motions me to get down. Numbly, I follow her lead.
“Kill him!” Antonia’s shouting. “Shoot the bastard!”
“Cassius, listen to me…,” I beg.
“I said on your knees,” Cassius repeats to Sevro.
“My knees?” Sevro smiles wickedly. A mad gleam in his eye. “Stupid Gold. You forgot Howler rule number one. Never bow.” He snatches up his razor from his right wrist, tries to spin around. But he’s too slow. Cassius shoots him in the shoulder, jerking him sideways. The combat vest cracks. Blood sprays onto the metal wall. Sevro stumbles forward, eyes wild.
“For Gold,” Cassius whispers and fires six more shots point-blank into Sevro’s chest.