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After the officers disperse to receive direct orders from Orion, I motion Harnassus to take a walk with me along the excavation site. We have business to finish. And I want witnesses. The engine has settled back into its berth after its test run. Engineers call to one another as they make last-minute adjustments. “So you figured a way to make them sync-compatible,” Harnassus says. “And a way to handle the data-load. It will be terabytes per second.”
“I know.”
“My Blacksmiths saw them installing foreign tech in the control room. If not my men, who designed it?”
“We had to use all available resources on such short notice.”
“What resources?”
“The Master Maker Glirastes.”
His face goes blank. “Glirastes. He’s already tinkered with enough, don’t you think?”
“He is the only man on Mercury who studies ancient tech for pleasure,” I say. “If you could have done it, I’d have asked you.”
“He is a Gold pet.”
“I know you disagree with this course—”
“That is an abuse of language.” Harnassus’s voice doesn’t rise a decibel. “When you said we would let them inside our shields, I thought I misheard. When you told me what we were unearthing, I thought I’d gone mad. Now you’re telling me there’s not one engine but seven, run with the t
ech of a Gold pet. I haven’t gone mad.” He jabs a finger up into my chest and calmly says, “You have.”
I look down at his puny finger.
“Control yourself, Imperator. We set the tone. Tartarus is merely—”
“Insurance, yeah. I heard.”
“You don’t think we can match them on the ground.”
“No.”
“Need I remind you this is still the army that freed both our homes?”
“Except no Sefi, no Sevro, no Seventh.” The crossed wrenches on his uniform glint as the Terran folds his thick forearms over each other. “The enemy is freshly provisioned from Venus, her legions replenished, her machines serviced. These aren’t softfoot Pixies. These are the full Ash Legions. That means Legios XX Fulminata, XIII Dracones, X Purdus. On our best day, any of those would test our mettle. But she’s brought all of them. And this isn’t our best day. Just a week ago, my men were melting down scrap metal so we could fill the Twenty-third’s magazines. Scrap metal. Not depleted uranium. Scrap metal. Darrow, you know I am no Cassandra. But the moment the first Peerless boot touches Mercurian soil, we’ve lost the planet. This isn’t Thermopylae. This is Cannae. We will die in the Ladon.”
I ignore the appeal to the classical obsession I share with the Golds.
“Harnassus, we lost the planet the moment you sent half the fleet home.”
He appraises me coolly. “So there it is. You want to flog me for it? You want an apology? Fuck you. There’s your apology. I obeyed my oath. The sword of the people should never silence its voice. And the voice of the people is the Senate. Not you.”
“And what does the Senate tell you now?” I cup my ear. “The voice isn’t speaking. So the sword will.”
“You know why I prefer Sevro to you? He might burn hot. But you go cold. There’s no talking to you when you’re like this. You’re inhuman. You’re a god emperor.”
His Blacksmiths have noticed the tenor of our conversation if not its content. Thraxa worried over my choice of theater for this game, surrounded by Harnassus’s men. But you don’t get the wolf by the tongue without reaching through its teeth.
He steps close to me. “You didn’t come back to save us. You came back to kill them.” He suppresses a shudder of anger. “You’re rolling dice in the dark. Reinforcements may already be en route. At least try to run their blockade. Get a signal out. Contact the Senate. Learn their intentions. You have a solemn duty to keep the men alive as long as possible. And if you use those engines, we’re as bad as the enemy.”
“Harnassus. Look around. Does today look like a day where I am inclined to entertain anyone’s moral protestations? I am going forward. Are you with me, Imperator?”
“And if I’m not?”
