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To my other side, Rhonna sighs in exasperation. “Can’t we damn well go five bloody minutes without commentary leaking out your ass?”

He chuckles. “Like you’d know what to do with the silence.”

“Anything would be better than you quoting Nilton.”

“Milton, for your edification. Only that wasn’t the blind Englishman. It was the Attic.”

I turn to look at them and they shut up, Rhonna into a moody silence, Alexandar into a luxurious one. He finds a scuff on his black chest armor and pulls out a silk handkerchief to wipe it off. “Lancer, which fleet is that?” I ask Rhonna.

She shakes off her irritation, steps forward and pulls an image from her datapad into the air and magnifies the hulls of the capital ships. “It looks like the First and Third. There’s the sphinx of House Carthii, and the dogs of Cerana, their bannermen.” Alexandar makes a polite sound of disappointment. Rhonna scans the image in frustration, not understanding what she got wrong. “Shut up, Alexandar.”

“I said nothing.”

“Alexandar? Do you know the answer?” I ask.

“First, Third, and Eleventh.”

“Eleventh?” Rhonna asks.

Alexandar continues smugly. “Cerana is no longer with the Third. Intel suggests that the Ash Lord has continued his reform in fleet management, and his favoring of smaller, independent forces with greater local autonomy. House Cerana was spotted operating in Martian orbit three months ago without additional support. Starhall believes there are now at least twelve main subdivisions within the Societal Navy.” He pushes his long hair from his eyes. “The lattermost fleets of course being of smaller size. The rest of the fleets are likely concealed behind the planet, as per the Ash Lord’s modus operandi.”

“How many capital ships are in the Eleventh Fleet?” I ask, becoming annoyed with him.

“Estimates say two destroyers, six torchships, ten frigates, sir.”

“Correct.”

“Thank you, sir.”

Rhonna goes into a dark silence. I turn to her and say quietly, “What do you think I’m going to say?”

“That I should read my briefs.”

“Yes. But why?” She doesn’t answer, but looks over my shoulder at Alexandar.

“Rhonna, the first rule of war is to know where your enemy is. How can you know where he is if you do not know how many he is? Say you spot one torchShip with Cerana dogs in the asteroid belt. How can you decide your course if you don’t know how many ships she travels with? How many variables are at play for ambushes and counterattacks?” I lean close and nod back to Alexandar. “And more importantly, don’t let him bait you.”

“Yes, sir.”

“And you…” I turn back to Alexandar. He freezes as I pull a holo from my datapad showing the ship’s bridge. I rewind it and replay the self-satisfied smiles he was giving Rhonna when my back was turned. I make him watch it three times till his pale cheeks are rose red. “Don’t be such an asshole. It’s why there’s war in the first place.”

“Yes, sir.”

From his perch in the pilot’s chair above, Colloway chuckles in amusement, though still no smile. He’s never been fond of Alexandar, or many Golds for that matter, but he takes particular joy in seeing my dashing lancer humbled. It doesn’t happen often. Except for his mouth, the boy would make Lorn proud. He’d like everyone to think his gifts are Jove-sent, but not a moment of his life since I met him has not been spent studying or practicing the martial arts. Sometimes Lorn would let him sit in on our secret lessons in Agea. He would bring his sister’s hazelnut bread and watch with wide, enamored eyes.

I motion Alexandar closer. “I want you to keep your distance from Apollonius.”

“With all due respect, sir, the man has a bomb in his head.”

“He’s a madman. He meant it when he mentioned the bloodfeud. Won’t throw a gauntlet because he knows I’ll stop it. But he still might take his chance if you turn your back.”

“He won’t. He knows you’ll blow his head off, and I rather think he likes his head.”

“He’ll probably wager that he’s safe. That I won’t sacrifice the mission in order to avenge your death.”

“Of course you would.” A slow look of pain grows on his face. “Wouldn’t you?”

“Of course I would,” I say, catching Rhonna’s eye. She knows I’m lying, because unlike Alexandar she does not suffer the shared delusion of grandeur under which all Golds secretly live their lives: that they are the chosen one, and their time is nigh. Rhonna would expect me to put the mission above her. With that single look between us, I see her in a fresh light.