Morning Star: Book III of the Red Rising Trilogy (44 page)

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.

They expect me to defend Mustang, which shows how little they know her.

“You are all being rather illogical,” Mustang says. “I don’t mean that as an insult, but simply as a statement of fact. If I meant you ill, I would have hailed the Sovereign or my brother and brought a tracking device on my ship. You know what lengths she would go to in order to find Tinos.” My friends exchange troubled glances. “But I didn’t. I know you will not trust me. But you trust Darrow and he trusts me, and since he knows me better than any of you do, I think he’s in the best position to make the call. So stop whimpering like gorydamn children and let’s be about the task, eh?”

“If you have a buzzsaw I could do it in around three minutes….” Sevro says.

“Will you shut the hell up?” Dancer barks at him. It’s the first time I’ve ever seen him lose his

temper. “A man will lie through his teeth, say whatever you want to hear if you’re pulling off his toenails. It doesn’t work.” He was tortured himself by the Jackal. Just like Evey and Harmony were.

Sevro crosses his arms. “Well, that’s an unfair and massive generalization, Gramps.”

“We don’t torture,” Dancer says. “That’s final.”

“Oh, yeah, right,” Sevro says. “We’re the good guys. Good guys never torture. And always win.

But how many good guys get their heads put in boxes? How many get to watch their friends’ spines

cut in half?”

Dancer looks to me for help. “Darrow….”

Quicksilver pops open an oyster. “Torture can be effective if done correctly with confirmable information in a narrow scope. Like any tool, it is not a panacea; it must be used properly. Personally, I don’t really think we have the luxury of drawing moral lines in the sand. Not today. Let Barca have a go. Pulls some nails. Some eyes if need be.”

“I agree,” Theodora says, surprising the council.

“What about Matteo?” I ask Quicksilver. “Sevro shattered his face.”

Quicksilver ’s knife slips on the new oyster, punching into the meat of his palm. He winces and sucks at the blood. “And if he hadn’t have passed out he would have told you where I was. From my

experience, pain is the best negotiator.”

“I agree with them, Darrow,” Mustang says. “We have to be certain he’s telling the truth. Otherwise we’re letting him dictate our strategy—which is classic counterintelligence on his part. It’s what you would do.” And it’s what I tried to do till the torture started with the Jackal.

Victra, who has been silent on the issue till now, walks abruptly around the table into the holo projection so that black space and stars play across her skin. Jagged white-blond hair drifts in front of angry eyes as she pulls her gray shirt off. She’s muscled and lithe beneath and wears a compression bra. A half dozen razor scars stretch three inches at a diagonal across her flat belly. There’s more than a dozen on her sword arm. A few on her face, neck, clavicle.

“Some I’m proud of,” she says of the scars. “Some I’m not.” She turns to show us her lower back.

It’s a waxy melted swath of flesh where her sister left her mark in acid. She turns back to us, raising her chin in defiance. “I came here because I didn’t have a choice. I stayed when I did. Don’t make me regret that.”

It’s startling to see the vulnerability in her. I don’t think Mustang would ever let her guard down in public like this. Sevro stares intensely at the tall woman as she tugs her shirt back on and turns back to the holo. She reaches for the asteroid with both hands to stretch the hologram. “Can we get better resolution?” she asks as if the matter is settled.

“The picture was taken by a Census Bureau drone,” I say. “Nearly seventy years ago. We don’t have

access to the current Society military records.”

“My men are on it,” Quicksilver says. “But they’re not optimistic. We’re fighting a legion of Society counterattacks right now. Gorydamn maelstrom.”

“This is when having your father around would come in handy,” Sevro says to Mustang.

“He never mentioned anything like this to me,” she replies.

“Mother did, once,” Victra says thoughtfully. “Antonia and I. Something about nasty little goody bags that Imperators could collect on the fly if the Rim went off the tracks.”

“That matches with what Cassius says.”

She turns back to us. “Then I think Cassius is telling the truth.”

“So do I,” I say to the group. “And torturing him doesn’t resolve anything. Cut off his fingers one

by one, and what if he still says it’s true? Do we keep cutting until he says it’s not? Either way it’s a gamble.” I get a few reluctant nods and feel relief that at least one battle’s won, if a little wary knowing how savage my friends can become.

“What did he suggest we do?” Dancer asks. “I’m sure he had a proposal.”

“He wants me to have a holoconference with the Sovereign,” I say.

“Why?”

“To discuss an alliance against the Jackal. They give us intel, we kill him before he can detonate any bombs,” I say. “That’s his plan.”

Sevro giggles. “Sorry. But that would be bloodydamn fun to watch.” He pulls up his left hand and

makes a talking motion with it. ‘Hello, you old rusty bitch, you recall when I kidnaped your grandchild?’ ” He pulls up his right hand. “Why yes, my goodman. Just after I enslaved your entire race.” He shakes his head. “No purpose in talking to that Pixie. Not until we’re knocking on her doorstep with a fleet. You should send me and the Howlers after good old Jackal. Can’t press a button without a head.”

“The Valkyrie will attend this mission with the Howlers,” Sefi says.

“No. The Jackal will invite a personal attack,” I say, glancing at Mustang, who has already warned me off that course. “He knows us too well to be surprised by things we’ve done in the past. I’m not throwing lives away by playing into his understanding of our strengths.”

“Do you have anyone inside his inner-circle, Regulus?” Dancer asks Quicksilver. Surprisingly, the

two men seem to rather like one another.

“I did. Until your Grays broke Darrow out. Adrius had his chief of intelligence purge his inner circle. My men are all dead or imprisoned or scared shitless.”

“What do you think, Augustus?” Dancer asks Mustang.

All eyes turn to her. She takes her time in replying.

“I think the reason you’ve managed to stay alive so long is because Golds are so consumed with the individual ego that they’ve forgotten how they conquered Earth. Each thinks they can rule. With Orion returning and Sevro’s gains, your greatest strength now lies with your navy and an Obsidian army.