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…”