“With the surplus inventory from the fourteen mines and the Martian Reserve? At this rate, in two years he’ll have more than the Imperial Reserves on Luna and Venus and the War Reserve on Ceres combined.”
“That could mean a hundred things,” I say quietly, realizing just how much fuel that is. Three quarters of the most valuable substance in the worlds. All under the control of one man. “He’s making a play for Sovereign. Buying Senators?”
“Forty so far,” Cassius admits. “More than we thought he had. But there’s another kink which he’s involved them in.” He tries to sit up straighter in his cot, but the manacles around his hands anchor him to a half-slouched pose. “I’m going to ask you a question, and I need you to tell me the truth.” I’d laugh at the idea if I didn’t see how serious he is. “Did the Sons of Ares rob a deep space asteroid warehouse in March, several days after your escape? About four months ago?”
“Be more specific,” I say.
“A minor main belter in the Karin Cluster. Designation S-1988. Silicate-based junk asteroid. Nearly zero mining potential. Specific enough?”
I reviewed the entirety of Sevro’s tactical operations when I was making my recovery with Mickey. There were several assaults on Legion military bases within the asteroid belts, but nothing remotely like what Cassius is talking about.
“No. There were no operations on S-1988 that I know of.”
“Gorydamn,” he mutters under his breath. “Then we judged right.”
“What was in the warehouse?” I ask. “Cassius…”
“Five hundred nuclear warheads,” he says darkly.
The blood on his bandage has spread to the size of a gaping mouth.
“Five hundred,” I echo, my own voice a distant, hollow thing. “What was their yield?”
“Thirty megatons each.”
“World killers…Cassius, why would they even exist?”
“In case the Ash Lord ever had to repeat Rhea,” Cassius says. “The depot lies between the Core and the Rim.”
“Repeat Rhea…that’s who you serve?” I ask. “A woman who stores enough nuclear warheads to destroy a planet, just in case.”
He ignores my tone. “All evidence pointed to Ares, but the Sovereign thought it gave Sevro too much credit. She had Moira investigate it personally, and she was able to trace the tags of the hijacker’s ship to a defunct shipping line formerly owned by Julii Industries. If the Sons truly didn’t steal them, then the Jackal has the weapons. But we don’t know what he’s doing with them.” I stand there, numb. Mind racing to piece together how the Jackal might utilize so many atomics. According to the Compact, the Martian military is only permitted twenty in its arsenal, for ship-to-ship warfare. All under five megatons.
“If this is true, why would you tell me?” I ask.
“Because Mars is my home too, Darrow. My family has been there as long as yours. My mother is still there in our home. Whatever the Jackal’s long-term strategy is, the judgment of the Sovereign is that he will use the weapons here if his back is to the wall.”
“You’re afraid we might win,” I realize.
“When it was Sevro’s war, no. The Sons of Ares was doomed. But now? Look what’s happening.” He looks me up and down. “We’ve lost containment. Octavia doesn’t know where I am. Whether or not Aja is alive. She has no eyes on this. The Jackal might know she tried to betray him to his sister. He’s a wild dog. If you provoke him, he will bite.” He lowers his voice. “You might be able to survive that, Darrow, but can Mars?”
“Five hundred nuclear warheads?” Sevro whispers. “Holy bloodydamn shit. Tell me you’re joking. Go on.”
Dancer sits quietly at the warroom table, kneading his temples.
“It’s bullshit,” Holiday grunts from the wall. “If he has them, he’d have used them.”
“Let’s leave the deductions to the individuals who have actually met the man, shall we?” Victra says. “Adrius doesn’t function like a normal human.”
“That’s for damn sure,” Sevro says.
“Still, it is a solid question,” Dancer says, annoyed at the presence of so many Golds, particularly Mustang who stands beside me. “If he has them, why hasn’t he used them?”
“Because that sort of escalation will hurt him almost as much as it hurts us,” I say. “And if he uses them, the Sovereign will have every excuse to replace him.”
“Or he doesn’t have them,” Quicksilver says dismissively. He floats before us, blue holoPixels shimmering over a display panel. “It’s a ploy. Bellona knows what you care about, Darrow. He’s plucking your heartstrings with notions of oblivion. It’s bullshit. My techs would have seen major ripples if he was moving missiles. And I would have heard about plutonium enriching if the Sovereign had them built.”
“Unless they’re old missiles,” I say. “Lots of relics lying about.”