“And they have everything else. Including helium.”
“If the Rim shares their inferior variety,” he says. “That stuff they mine from the Gas Giants is like jellybeans without sugar, you know.”
“If only reactors were as judicious as Sophocles.”
“Sarcasm never inspired anyone. Let them come, I say. Let them come and die. Atalantia, Atlas, Lysander, Ajax, Helios, Dido. We will make Mars their grave.”
I cannot share his ardor. Kavax has lost two sons. I have not yet lost my one. I see the grief in his face. The hatred in his eyes when he looks up at the sky. There the reassuring lights of our ships and orbital battle stations twinkle, but none shine so brightly as Phobos, the headquarters of our orbital defenses of Mars and the site of Victra’s precious dockyards. I try to believe our defenses are strong enough to stop what will come.
On my flight to Agea from my gun battery inspections on the Thermic coast, I saw fishing boats on the sea, children flying kites, workers digging bunkers, and soldiers making rings for pankration in the shadows of their war machines. All know a battle is coming, but on the surface of the planet, it does not quite feel like a siege yet.
In orbit over Mars, the tale is different. Millions in the navy and defense installations are on battle-watch. With the Solar System turned into soup by the enemy’s anti-sensor drones, I feel as though we’ve returned to the dark ages. Our long-distance coms are unreliable. Our radar and lidar assaulted by false signatures. The enemy could come and we’d have less than a week’s notice.
I wag the report at Kavax. “This could have been done over coms. I take it you’re coming along to see Pax?”
He nods. “It isn’t every day the Conservatory allows a student to see his mother. Even if she is the Sovereign.”
I pat my old guardian on the shoulder and head for my shuttle. My bodyguards fall in behind us. “Pax will be happy to see you. Where is Sophocles by the way, I don’t know how you’re standing without him?”
“In the shuttle already,” he says. “I’ll bet you a bottle of Rath red that he’s chosen your seat.”
* * *
—
The wind howls as I wait for my son outside his school. The Darkstar Conservatory is perched high on a mountain. Nearby, only a few military installations and training facilities dot the range that stretches south to the continent’s end. Several hundred banners snap in the twilight. The banners are as no-nonsense as the school’s founder, Orion. Each bears the school’s sigil on a field of black—a blue trident piercing a cracking golden planet.
A perfect black sphere, the school looks as indomitable to its stark environs as I wish I felt. The Conservatory was to be the forge where the next generations of ripWing aces, destroyer captains, and torchShip daredevils were made. Already the influence of their first graduating class is being felt in the ranks, their elite alumni aiding our struggle against Gold command superiority—though many say it is too little, too late.
It was five years ago that I watched Darrow give his speech at the school’s opening ceremony. After he surrendered the rostrum to Orion, he came to stand beside me. The smile on his face, and then his lightness at the afterparty, remains one of the more pleasant memories of the last decade. He was happy. He was proud of Orion. And he saw himself, if only for one evening, as a builder of the future.
It seems so long ago now. We both thought we had so much future ahead of us. Our future has shrunken and darkened now that Pax is studying within the Conservatory’s walls. Now that the enemy is setting the table for the inevitable siege of Mars.
When Pax was born out beyond the ecliptic plane, I was on the run after my father had been murdered and Darrow taken captive by my brother in a garden on Mars. Back then I never would have imagined I’d be sending my precious boy to study at a place like the Conservatory, yet it is where he asked to go. He knows all too well the expectations the people have of him—he’s already famous as the Boy Who Killed a TorchShip. The holo experience is even available on the black web.
My son will be a warrior.
It makes no difference if he fights with ships or blades; either way the fate that awaits my son fills me with inexpressible regret and guilt. Worse, I’ve always let him know it. It was the only fight we have ever had, that day the shuttle took him from Agea south to the Conservatory. I’d have that moment back if I could. We have not spoken since, and according to school rules, we ordinarily would not be allowed to until he graduates six years from now.
But a Sovereign should be permitted some privileges, shouldn’t she?
At first, the school’s administrators, all Blues, wouldn’t let me inside. They believe the first step to creating a naval officer is severing the recruits, especially those not born Blue, from their original Color’s familial structures. No mothers, no fathers, not for those of the navy’s killing elite. Their only family will be the brothers and sisters of the sect. The school’s method is effective, but to me it feels too utilitarian and almost insidious.
Chilled by my thoughts and the weather, I pull my red and gold cloak tighter around my shoulders. I squint through the falling snow toward the school. The snow is so heavy, the only feature of the school I can divine is the motto in huge iron letters on the façade: AS ABOVE, SO BELOW. There’s no sign of Pax.
I glance up. Soon it won’t just be Republic ships flying above Mars. Kavax joins me from the shuttle with Sophocles the fox trotting dutifully behind. Fearing that assassination squads are already on Mars, or worse, the Fear Knight himself, Kavax seldom lets me out of his sight.
“The evacuation of the civilians from Phobos is behind schedule,” he grumbles. “There was a bombing this morning. Lune fundamentalist.”
“Affiliated with Lune’s household?”
“Doesn’t look like it. Lone wolf. A Green.”
“A Green?”
“It was a suicide bombing. Religion has returned to politics,” he replies. “In the grand scheme of things, the bombing is only a minor setback. Look on the bright side. You’ve unveiled four traitors in a week. All high ranking.”
“That we have four traitors is hardly a ‘bright side.’ Do they really think Lysander is any different from Octavia? It’s the same system, even if Lune has a prettier smile and more games. Those bloody chariot races…”
“I know it’s been frustrating watching him rise.”
“What’s frustrating is that he never comes into the field of battle so Victra can just kill the little bastard and end his delusions of grandeur before he becomes a problem.” Kavax puts an arm around me. “Sorry,” I say. “I know you know. It’s only that I just saw a holo of him.”
“I saw it too. He was wearing the hilt from the razor you gave Darrow.”
“As if he earned it,” I say.
“I have a question to ask you, Virginia.” I try to pull away to look at him but he keeps his arm around me. “The reputation of your omniscience grows. Four traitors in a week, you know. But…if the gods have taught us anything, it is that prescience always comes with a price. Odin gave up one of his eyes in exchange for wisdom.”
I feared this moment from him. It was inevitable. I could not hide the source of my intel forever from a man like him. In fact, if Kavax’s wits were not so dimmed by Daxo’s death, he would have discovered it after the first traitor we clipped.