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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.
