Dark Age (Red Rising Saga 5)

“What if we…acquired their ships?” Thraxa asks, looking to Screwface. “Get a team to orbit and try to take one or two of those dreadnoughts.”

His eyes go wide and he whistles. “I wouldn’t volunteer personally…they’re blasting anything that comes within a hundred klicks. And the Gorgon have response teams on board. Atalantia’s just waiting with a net.”

“She knows me too well for that to work this time,”

I say to Screw’s nod of agreement. “If we saw an opening, it would likely be a trap. The noose is tightening. If we move outside the shield, she’ll stomp on us like bugs.”

I intended to move the ships in the storm cover, under the veil of electronic interference, to prepare some devilry for Atalantia. But the level of storm Orion summoned made that impossible, and even killed four of our torchShips. Now all my cards are used up. They know it. I know it. And I have the sneaking suspicion Atalantia knows it. There are no tricks left to play. “We are in a cage,” I say. “All that can deliver us is the Sovereign. And I believe she will.”

“You believe?” Thraxa says. “She won’t move the Senate. The Vox will sacrifice us. Dancer will let us die to get back at you for the Sons on the Rim. No one is coming.”

Sadly, Harnassus agrees. “I know Dancer. He’ll wear diamonds before he risks Atalantia’s trap, not after that false peace. He’s prouder than he thinks. I know neither of you want to hear it, but after that battle we’re not an army anymore. We’re just bait on a hook. All’s left to do is remove the bait.”

“Surrender?” Thraxa asks in horror.

Harnassus’s lips barely move. “Perhaps.”

“If we surrender, they will kill all of us,” Thraxa says.

“Worse,” Screw says. “I would know. I’ve watched her play with Howlers.” He blinks and covers his unease with a smile for a seagull that lands on the balcony outside.

“They would torture and kill us four,” Harnassus agrees. “But they will need labor to rebuild after this. Not all of the men will survive, but some will. Some is better than none.” He meets my eyes. “At least tell me you will consider it.”

I lean back in my chair as Thraxa and Screwface hold their breath. “Harnassus, in order for me to consider that, I would have to continue to make the same mistake that put us here: doubt my wife. I have done that before, to the detriment of us all.” With me taking shortcuts, as Sevro said. “And I would have to make a mistake I have not made in fifteen years: fool myself into believing slavery is better than death. I will not do that.”

Thraxa nods. The tension releases from Screw. He’s afraid of Atalantia. More afraid than he’ll ever admit. Harnassus says nothing. He disagrees.

“I was ready to sacrifice this army to break theirs, because I did not believe the Republic would come. Because I thought killing them would give the Republic the best hope in this war. In that moment of choice, I listened to you, Harnassus. If we save this army, it will be a victory to inspire the worlds.

“We will save this army by having faith in our Republic, in our Sovereign. There will be no surrender, no escape plan that exposes the army so Atalantia can drive a stake through our hearts. My wife said the ships would come. So they will come. Until then, we share what we have with the civilians.”

“It won’t last the week,” Thraxa objects.

“We share what we have with the civilians.”

A knock comes at the door and Rhonna steps through looking frightened. “Sir, we’ve received a tightbeam from the Annihilo.” Screwface’s head snaps in her direction. “Atalantia has requested an audience.” Her eyes dart to the floor. “She says it concerns your wife.”

“IT’S DISAPPOINTING WE DIDN’T get to meet in person,” I say to Atalantia. “I had such plans for you.”

“Yes, well, I’m not terribly fond of having conversations when I’m on the back foot. And I will admit, you put me there.”

“Lady, I fucked you up.”

She grimaces. “Indeed, but that is the nature of you and me. Gamblers both. I won the first hand. You won the last. Though I must admit, I am surprised you had the temerity to use those machines. What devious designs freedom requires. One must worry about the strength of a principle when it must compromise itself so often to survive. At least we’re consistent, eh?”

I do not tell her it was Orion’s decision. More the monster I appear, more hesitant will she be in encroaching upon Heliopolis. Today she is in a playful mood, which worries me. I know I hurt her worse than she’s letting on. Her eyes are of warm gold and her mouth sensuous in a way that reminds me of Nidhogg, the serpent of Obsidian myth who gnaws at the root of the world tree. She walks around her absurd gold throne, tracing her nails along its spikes. The snake that she customarily wears around her neck coils around the throne’s arms.

She laughs at a private joke, then makes it public. “Don’t you find it peculiar? The human conviction that we are the heirs of history instead of paragraphs that are almost over. A survival mechanism, no doubt.

“My father knew otherwise, of course,” she continues. “He was even more avid an historian than Atlas with his little library. That’s what made them fond of each other, you know. My father could read Sumerian, Akkadian, Eblaite, Hurrian, Hittite, Ugaritic, First Chinese, and thirty-two other dead languages. And all he learned from them was an aversion to risk. He was never fond of betting it all on a roll of the dice, like we do. But one story did stick. He told it to me when as a girl I had it in my mind to brawl with Aja when she rode my favorite sunblood stallion without asking.”

She pulls the snake from the arm of her chair and lets it coil around her neck.

“In the years between 280 and 275 BC, a young king dared to resist the expanding Roman Republic.” Her finger traces along the snake as it moves. “This king was beloved by his men, shrewd in the ways of battle. Much like you. To the surprise of the known world, he enjoyed initial successes against the legions. Appalling them with fearsome beasts from barbarous lands.” The snake lifts its head toward Atalantia’s face. “War elephants and the like. But these battles cost the king. He could not call up more men from his lands. And elephants are so few. In contrast, the Romans could draw from an immeasurable well of manpower.” The snake’s mouth slowly opens before Atalantia. “The king soon realized this and when congratulated for a victory, he cried out, ‘If we are victorious in one more battle with the Romans, we shall be utterly ruined.’?” Atalantia extends her tongue to take the smallest prick from the right fang of the snake. She shudders as the microdose of poison races through her bloodstream. Her voice creeps toward sensuous as she slinks toward her chair and sinks into its embrace. “I measure you know this king’s name?”

“Pyrrhus,” I answer. “Don’t fret. I didn’t waste your tax dollars to get a bad education.”

“I presume you know, then, what happened next?”