“So, he’s clever for an Obsidian. That doesn’t mean—”
“It’s not just cleverness, it’s not just his mastery of the Obsidians’ psychology. It’s the logistics. If Fá was ruling the Ascomanni all the way out in the Kuiper Belt—a year’s journey at least—how did he know to arrive on Mars exactly when Sefi’s reign was the most vulnerable? She’d only just rebelled from the Republic and claimed the mines of Cimmeria for her Alltribe. Can he see the future? Or is it more reasonable there is a degree of coordination and patience to this play?”
Diomedes turns this over in his mind. His jaw clenches. I continue.
“This campaign against Ilium would have been impossible without the Volk fleet, without the Volk braves, without your navy being off to war in the Core. Yet based on the timetable, all the pieces had to have been in motion long before the Rim declared war. So…how did Fá know the Rim was going to be otherwise engaged? Before your own rulers did? Before Cassius and Lysander ever arrived with the evidence of my crimes against the Rim? Years before, in fact. Can he see the future, Diomedes?”
He does not answer, but thoughts swirl behind his eyes. I’d give almost anything for him to put them into words.
“Then there’s the matter of Kalyke. Where the Dragon and Dust armadas, two of the most storied fleets in history, led by one of the Rim’s best commanders, were destroyed without Fá even breaking a sweat. I saw his navy when we landed here: intact, and, except for those dreadnaughts, decidedly mediocre. That navy should be in tatters, even in victory. It looks like he lost barely a ship during the ambush. Was your navy made of porcelain? Has Helios become incompetent in his old age? Was Dido equally mediocre?” His jaw flexes. “Was it a miracle?” I pause, waiting for him to correct me. He doesn’t. “You were there. Guard your secrets if you must, but I think it’s more likely there was an unseen hand at play. An unseen hand that led you into an ambush, that guided the Rim into the war at precisely the right time, possibly even inciting Sefi to abandon me on Mercury and seek independence on Mars.”
When said aloud, it all seems far less paranoid than it did in my head. “Maybe I have become paranoid after a decade of war,” I allow. “Maybe I’m swinging at ghosts. Maybe Fá is charismatic enough to unite the Volk and the Ascomanni. Clairvoyant enough to plan a war that was only possible if your navy was gone. And brilliant enough to crack Sungrave and the Garter in one-tenth the time it would have taken me.” His eyes narrow at that, but even if he hates me he knows I know my business. “Impossible? No. Improbable? Yes.
“But here’s the thing, Diomedes. Neither you nor me are amateurs at warfare. Been at this awhile now. What I’ve learned is war on this scale is preposterously complicated. The logistics of food alone for one starship…well thank Jove your people designed Coppers. In war, nothing, and I mean nothing—not even your own bowel movements—are perfectly predictable. War is hard, but this bastard is making it look easy. Too damn easy. So all that combined, where does it leave us? It leaves us to ask the question at the center of the maze: qui bono. So. Qui bono, Diomedes? Who benefits from this death and destruction on the Rim?”
I’ll give one thing to Diomedes: whoever trained him to withhold his emotions deserves a medal. The man is less expressive than even the stone ancestors that watch us from the wall with their permanent sneers. I’m so focused on trying to chisel meaning from his stony face that I nearly jump out of my skin when my com crackles with an incoming call from Cassius. “Howler One, do you register?”
Diomedes shifts forward, hopeful.
“I register, Eagle One. Did you find Gaia or Thalia?” I ask.
“Negative. I have enemy contact west sector four,” Cassius says.
“Shit. Really? I didn’t think the enemy would still be picking Sungrave’s bones. Ascomanni?”
“Volk.” My heart beats faster. I stream Cassius’s helmet feed into the air. A chain of captives shuffles through the gloom of a subterranean garage. “Small team. They must still be drilling into the bunkers to make sure they get everyone. By the looks of it, they’ve found some Blues and Greens, all with interface plugs. High value Colors. Do you recognize the braves?”
I zoom in on the enemy shown in Cassius’s feed. Over their heavy armor the Obsidians wear pale ram furs with a crimson streak. Blood Horn aerial cavalry. Skarde’s lot. That tracks. Of all my former Obsidian centurions, Skarde was always amongst the greediest.
“I recognize them.”
“I count six braves so far,” Cassius reports.
“There will be more,” I warn. “Do not engage. You heard Sevro. We’re standing by for instructions from Athena.”
“I have the element of surprise. I could take them.”
“No. Those aren’t the Belt pirates you’re used to. I trained those braves. They were frontliners on Earth and Mars. And if they’re part of a larger war party, letting them know we’re here is the last thing we want to do.”
“Registers…” The word sticks in his throat as another column of captives appears a hundred paces behind the first. I curse.
The new column comprises entirely Pink and Violet children. Not one could be older than fourteen. They are the picture of misery. By the looks on their terrified faces, they know what awaits them. They remember their state propaganda—tales of pale Rising butchers and their satyr-like appetites for young flesh—and so does noble Cassius. His biometrics reflect the anxiety in his voice.
“Darrow, are you seeing this?”
“I am, but—”
“I can’t just let this happen.”
“Cassius, listen to me. We cannot leave the omega torch, or compromise this location. They cannot know we are here. We need our rendezvous instructions. Do not engage. Report to the perfumery. Remember why we are here. We are so close.” I feel Diomedes’s eyes on me. It’s tempting to intervene just to impress upon him that we are not enemies, but the risk is too great. Aurae and Sevro have been listening to our communication in silence. Aurae finally weighs in.
“Listen to him, Cassius. When we reach Athena, we can save all of them. Think of the greater good.”
“That’s Darrow’s job,” he says.
“Cassius. You will die. You cannot take twelve of them on your own,” I say. “Stand down.”
“They have children,” he says, and his armor shifts from reptile mode to lupine as it powers for combat. “I’m sorry.”
He wasn’t trying to call my bluff, but I crack like an egg. “Bloodydamn Bellona,” I mutter. “I have your location. Track them to their ship. Wait for my support. We can jam their coms with our suits, then take them together.”
I hear the smile in Cassius’s voice. “Registers, Howler One. Do hurry. If they get to their ship before you get here, we’ll never catch up. I’ll have no choice but to take all the glory.”
“Howler Two, you’re closer. Support him in case I can’t get there in time.” Sevro does not reply. His com is on. I know he heard me. “Howler Two?”