Fear robs my men of their dignity, their nobility of purpose, their belief in our cause. Who can believe in the intangible with a garrote around their neck? They wait to die, slowly strangled by Atalantia and Atlas.
Some hold out hope that the Republic will send a fleet. There is a small chance, but if I hunker down and wait for my wife to move the gears of demokracy, there will be nothing left of us when the enemy strikes. We will die like flies, and fear will spread as the shadows of Atalantia’s fleet creep across the steps of the New Forum and their titanium boots tread the shores of my home.
So that makes it all very simple.
I must kill it before it kills us.
* * *
—
Our flight path takes us over the Waste of Ladon, the sunbelt that chokes the center of Mercury’s main continent, Helios. Half buried in its sands lie the remains of the three armies the Waste has swallowed in its time. Soon I will feed it a fourth.
Somewhere in the Waste’s axeblade central mountains, my Howlers herd the Fear Knight toward the tripwire of my trap—the mining city of Eleusis. Sevro should have been leading them. Four commanders on two planets I’ve sent against Atlas. Four have been returned impaled hole to hole. Only Sevro and I can match the brutality of the Fear Knight. But I have too much weight to bear alone. So I have dispatched my best remaining small-group commander, Thraxa, to lead, and my best sword, Alexandar in case it comes to blows.
To the south, past Heliopolis, commandos install missile systems, mines, and anti-infantry microwave cannons in the tropic archipelagos and deep jungles that sprawl into the Caliban Sea. To the northeast along the Petasos Peninsula are the rising elevations and temperate climes of a tiara of heavily populated cities called the Children.
The capital of the planet, and headquarters for my army, remains Tyche. We have made the treasured seaside home of the Votum into a fortress. Even as we pass over crop latifundia far to its east, you can catch the glint of its spires, and the soothing sight of its guardian mountain: the Morning Star.
Due to Orion’s free-fall maneuver, the flagship of my fleet survived Atalantia’s ambush—what the troops are calling the Battle of Caliban, for all the ships that fell through atmosphere into the sea—and now keeps watch over Tyche as her systems undergo repairs with hopes of one day returning her to the stars.
Tyche is crucial not just as a fallback citadel, but for the gravLoop that runs south under the Hesperides Mountains connecting Tyche to Heliopolis. Safe from bombardment, it will be the single artery for reinforcements if the fight reaches Tyche, and it will serve as our escape route to Heliopolis if Tyche falls. The only other path is across the Waste of Ladon, and I’d rather have dinner with the Fear Knight than dare cross that devourer of armies.
I busy myself with reports in the Necromancer’s warroom as the shuttle flies north. Beacons from submerged torchShips blink on the command display as we reach the northern extremity of the Sycorax Sea. Across the warroom’s data display, a Silver aide drones on about shortages of anti-radiation meds in the south. Most are being hoarded in Tyche for the inevitable fallout.
“Soon we’ll have a surplus,” I say.
“Have you discovered a new supply, sir?”
“No.”
His eyes flutter as he understands.
I feel stuffy. My spirit aches to be released from this endless stream of supply logistics and construction delays. I need fresh air.
I find Rhonna outside the entrance to the garage bay. Orion must be inside. My niece issues a crisp salute. Since her part in Orion’s rescue, her popularity with the army has increased, especially with the Blue and Orange sailors and officers. So far, it hasn’t gone to her head. Credit her father, Kieran, for that. “How’s she looking?” I ask.
“Quiet, sir,” Rhonna replies. “Eats alone, when she eats. Spends more time in the shower than the mess. Like she can’t get clean. Avoids the men when she can. Night terrors make her dope up to sleep. Never dozes in quarters. New spot every night. Guard detail can barely keep tabs on her.”
“Atlas did take her from her quarters,” I say. “I wouldn’t be able to use a bed either. Have you told anyone about your orders?”
“No, sir. I know you told Imperator Harnassus she passed her psych evaluation. Quiet’s the game.”
“Good. Good. Has she spotted you?”
“Did you spot me yesterday when you were listening to Aunt V’s hologram instead of sleeping like the medici ordered, sir?”
I frown. “Window?”
“Topiaries.”
I rub my eyes. “Shit. I’m getting old.”
“Or I’m getting quieter.”
I suppose it was only a matter of time before everyone started catching up. I consider how young she looks, and how old I must be in her eyes. “Did you know I’m older than my father was when he died? Still think of him as an old man.” I chuckle. “He’d be closer to your age, I reckon.”
She glances down the corridor and chews her lip.
“Permission to speak like we’re blood, sir.”
“Don’t like me discussing mortality?” She waits for my answer. “Granted.”
“I didn’t get you until we came back here. You were dead to us till I was near on nine. Everyone ran their gobs about you in Tinos. But I didn’t get it. I didn’t get that.” She points at the slingBlade asleep like a pale snake around my arm. “You were just my uncle. Then we came down with Orion. And I could see it. Every bloody soul was waiting to give Mercury their carbon. Then they saw you jump out this ship.” The hairs on her forearms stand on end at the memory. “You ain’t old. You just need to let others haul their freight. Even the Reaper needs sleep, sir. Especially if he’s gonna get us all home.”
She still believes I can work miracles. But my exhaustion isn’t made by these last days. A life of war is catching up with me. She doesn’t know the weight I carry. How much I relied on Sevro to help carry it. How damaged our legions really are. How tactically sophisticated even the most basic Gray infantry centurion of the enemy is compared with ours, not to mention their Golds. We just don’t have the same distribution of brainpower. Or firepower.
“Thank you for the concern, lancer. But I’d caution you against spying on me again.” I move toward the door.
“Sir.”
I turn, growing annoyed. She stands at attention again.
“When the Rain falls, I request permission to ride with my cohort.”
“No. I need you at my side.”
“Because it’s safer there?” She watches me with the same hard scrutiny my mother wields. Aside from Victra, Lykos women are the most stubborn breed. “You need your men to do their jobs. That’s why you let Alexandar tail you onto the Medusa. It’s why you sent him off with Thraxa. To do his job. You can’t protect us from this.”