He turned the message over and over again in his hands, his mind a jumble of thoughts and emotions. Ever since he had received this message a day ago from Lund, whose ministry, in turn, had received it from one of Ramsay's cronies, he had mulled over the contents, often isolating himself from Robb and the others in order to better collect his thoughts.
So far, it wasn't working that well.
To my dear friend and colleague, the letter began, in Ramsay's usual sadistic and mocking style, it is so good to hear from you again. When I had heard that you and your friends had killed a score of my men, I had to confirm it was you, Reek. Imagine my utter joy at hearing from the sole survivor that you were truly alive and well. I beg of you, old friend, we must meet. I've heard that you've been dying to see me, after all- you and your companions. To that end, I propose that we meet on neutral ground. The old factory near Arkani…do you know of it? Small, out of the way. Perfect for a lovely evening chat. I want to meet there, preferably on Life Day. What better way to kick off the new year than a reunion between two best friends?
Oh, and be sure to bring your friends. I'm sure my boys will make them feel quite welcome.
Regards,
Ramsay Bolton, Trueborn Lord of the Dreadfort and Warden of the North.
Theon sighed. The evil cur hadn't changed a bit if that last little tidbit in the letter was any indication. It seemed as if Ramsay was still terrified of anyone possibly remembering or recognizing him as a bastard son of a high lord.
There were a few things that had him on edge. He figured that Ramsay was setting a trap- of that he had no doubt. While logic would dictate that the simplest answer was the correct one and that Ramsay was preparing the trap for him and his companions, there was the matter of Ramsay wanting to meet on Life Day.
Coincidently, it was the same day the big wedding was supposed to be held.
He had to wonder if this was a distraction in order to lure him and Robb away from whoever was behind Ramsay's actions, leaving him or her free to carry out the assassination of the heir to the throne.
He paused to think. What was the motivation behind such an act? Yes, assassinating the prince would send a message, and cause immeasurable grief especially among his family, but the kingdom would function more or less, albeit Irene would take Alexios' place as heir to the throne. There would be a little to no tangible gain for any party involved, even for Ignatius, that fat pig.
Perhaps there was something even more devious at play, here. From what Han Solo had told them, Ramsay and his gang had been given arms and coin. From where he did not say, but a simple assassination mission did not require a massive influx of finances, nor did it require a particular party to receive enough weapons and munitions to form their own private military.
He started to feel a pit form in his stomach. This was starting to sound less and less like an assassination attempt and more like an all-out coup. The question still remained, though- who would be behind such a coup?
He heard a knock on his door. A few, sharp raps. He knew who it was without having to ask.
"Come in," he said. The door slid open, and in stepped Robb. Ever since they had accepted this mission to capture Ramsay, none of them had gotten a decent night's rest, having to pour over evidence, chase down leads in seedy cantinas, and play a game of cat and mouse with a dangerous murderer. Robb had formed a few bags under his eyes, and Theon noted that his beard looked more scruffy and haggard than usual, as there usually wasn't enough time for shaving nowadays.
"So..." Robb began, stifling a yawn as he came to sit in a chair opposite from Theon, "still thinking about going through with this?"
Theon nodded. "It's not my preference, but we have little choice in the matter. This could be our chance to catch Ramsay on our terms and possibly make him tell us who's behind his actions. Any leads on the kids' end?" he asked.
Robb nodded. "One major one, I think. Sabine and Ezra were handed a copy of the financial records for the kingdom. Major and minor transactions. Everything. Our resident Mandalorian is going over it right now, but she told me and Lund that she's already found some very interesting patterns."
"Interesting?" Theon inquired. "How so?"
"Well, one thing she noted is that there seemed to be a series of checks and transactions made out to several people with differing, yet oddly similarly sounded names. Ramos Benaco, Reginald Black, Robert Baratheon, and so on," Robb said. "The transactions from the sender party were anonymous, and all went through several false routing numbers before arriving at their intended recipient."
"Was there a similar time and place these transactions were made?" Theon inquired.
"The times are all different, but for the place…" Robb trailed off, appearing to remember something before continuing. "It appears that the transactions were made from somewhere in or near the palace."
"So, we know the suspect has access to the palace. And since the sums are pretty high for a common person, that would rule out any low-level functionaries or servants. So, it stands to reason that whoever we are searching for is part of the king's inner circle, or at least close to them enough to have some influence," Theon mused. "Was there anything else they uncovered?"
"Only this," Robb mentioned, "It appears that there might be some secret project going on if the misdirected finances for the Ministry of Defense are any indication."
Theon snorted. "Since when is a modern day government not involved in a secretive weapons program? Did you find out anything about it?"
Robb shook his head, "Not much. I tried to do some digging, and since my hacking skills aren't quite on par with Sabine's, all I was able to access was references to a 'Project Prometheus'. Everything else was either blacked out or plastered with 'above top-secret' labels, complete with the usual warnings about the penalty of getting caught with the information."
Theon said nothing, instead choosing to muse on the name of this apparent secret project. 'Prometheus'. There was an old Tionese legend about a figure of the same name, who was responsible for giving mortals the gift of fire, at a high price for himself. And since a good chunk of Tion's former population settled on Arcadia during the latter's earliest days as a refuge for those who fled the destruction of the Sith Empire, it stands to reason that the cultural fusion would have a great influence on later generations.
That influence would extend, it seemed, to naming conventions for scientific and military projects.
"It seems high time that we see our good friend, the Duke, about this," Theon spoke at last. "The Home Fleet being parked in orbit and the Royal Armed Forces going into high readiness levels doesn't really speak to the notion that everyone in the government wants peace with Nal Hutta or Coruscant."
Robb nodded. "Aye. I doubt Lund wants a war, though. He's one that views war as the absolute last resort. 'A knife between the ribs of one man beats blaster shots in the bodies of millions', as he always loved to say to me."
"That doesn't preclude shows of force, though," Theon reminded. "Whatever the Arcadians are building I presume they don't want it to be revealed until they're sure the time is right. When that time is, well, obviously neither of us can say."
Robb nodded, then motioned to the door. "Come on. We can catch the Duke outside the council chambers if we hurry. The meeting is over in fifteen minutes."
Theon quirked an eyebrow, "You managed to download the entire schedules for all the members of the council? Are you sure that Sabine's not just teaching you her language?"
Robb just smirked in reply, then turned to head out the door, and after a moment, Theon followed him, intent on getting answers from the Duke.
And all the while in the back of his mind, he could hear Ramsay's cruel laughter.
As massive as the palace complex was, it did not take them that long to reach the council chambers. Knowing that they couldn't simply sneak up on the wily old boar, they instead elected to wait outside, under the watchful gaze of two Exorsitoi, though truthfully he could never tell what their real expressions were underneath their helmets. If he had to venture, he would have had to guess it was the stereotypical Mandalorian expression- stony, stoic, and grim.
Not that much different than northerners, come to think of it.
They did not have to wait that long, as it turned out.
The doors swung open, and the king and his various councilors stepped out, either being oblivious to the presence of Robb and Theon or just flat out ignoring them in order to go about their other business. Surprisingly, neither Ezra nor Sabine had attended. On second thought, however, he did consider that they were still probably busy preparing for the prince's wedding and going over the financial records, still, to see if there were any other patters they could pick up on.
The last one out of the chambers was none other than the Gamorrean that they were looking for. Judging by the scowl on his face, Theon guessed that whatever had happened in the council chamber had obviously soured his mood, and thus they would have to approach this carefully.
Unlike the other councilors, Lund had taken notice of them. Snorting, he beckoned for them to follow, presumably to where they were out of earshot, and no prying eyes to see what they were doing.
Not willing to anger him further, Theon and Robb obliged, keeping a steady pace behind the intelligence minister, who was surprisingly spry for his advanced years. After what seemed like a few long minutes of walking, he turned into a room on the right side of the hallway they were walking. Following him, they noticed that they had entered what looked like a small break room for some of the local serving staff, right now unoccupied as the day shift was still about their tasks.
"Close the door," Lund commanded, his tone brisk and sharp.
Robb did as he was asked, and as soon as the door closed and the two Westerosi faced the Duke, he sighed. "Any updates on the pursuit of the killer and his handler? I could use some fucking good news right now. Something, anything to get that cunt Ignatius off my mind."
"Well, we're closer than ever to catching Ramsay, for one," Robb offered. "He's agreed to meet us at the old factory outside Arkani. Believe it was a munitions plant at one point, right?"
"Yeah. Used to be owned and operated by local weapons manufacture, before they moved to a bigger plant inside the town itself when they got enough credits saved up. A good place to set up an ambush, as any," Lund replied, his voice carrying an edge of annoyance. "Did it occur to you two that this is an obvious trap?"
"Believe me, I'd be disappointed it if weren't a trap," Theon drolled. "Remember, I know the man. He's likely wired the place to blow, or he's got men crawling all over that facility, waiting for us to show up…and waiting for any nasty surprises coming from the Arcadian government."
"And yet you're still going to meet with him?" Lund observed.
Theon nodded. "It's the only real chance we have of catching him. We have to play into his overconfidence, make him seem like he's going to come out on top. That's when we'll nab him."
"How, exactly, do you plan to do that? Even if you have that Mandalorian Protector by your side, it doesn't change the fact that Ramsay will outnumber you three by a significant margin, if the reports on the estimated size of his gang are to be believed. Speaking of which, where is Rau?" the Duke asked.
"Talking to Lord Commander Vistula, last I checked. Believed they knew each other back in the day, or so I was told," Theon replied. "As for your other question, we were actually going to ask for your help in that matter. You have the resources necessary to back us up, and the pull to borrow from other branches as you and the king see fit. We can talk about the planning later, but suffice to say that you'll be providing the muscle in case things go wrong, and they almost certainly will go wrong."
"Noted. I'll need my boys to do some reconnoitering of the old place, though. Don't want my men to walk blindly into something nasty, after all," Lund snorted, then looked at the two of them. "Something tells me, though, that the Ramsay matter isn't the only reason why you're talking to me. And something else tells me that I'm not going to enjoy this next conversation. So, spit it out already."
Theon and Robb shared a look between each other, each unsure who should tell one of the most powerful men in the entire galaxy that they found evidence of an Arcadian secret weapons project. After a long, tense moment of silence, Robb decided to come clean, much to Theon's relief.
"What do you know of Project: Prometheus?" Robb asked, his tone straight and void of emotion.
For the first time in his life, Theon saw Lund's posture go ram-rod straight, and his eyes widen to the size of dinner plates. "What in Sofios' name did you say?"
"Prometheus," Robb repeated. "Don't play me for an idiot, Lund. We both know that Arcadia's been funding a secretive military effort. Your government has been bringing in record revenues yet you're tight on budget for some reason? Either someone's been mismanaging money- which, as you know, is highly unlikely given how stingy Belisarius is- or there's something going on that the Council doesn't want everyone else to know about.."
Before Robb could finish, Lund grabbed him and threw him against the wall, with a speed and quickness that should not have been possible for someone his size. As a matter of fact, he had done this before Theon had even registered what was going on, and by the time he had drawn his blaster, Lund's dagger was already at Robb's throat.
"Where the living fuck did you learn this?" Lund demanded, his voice dangerously low and threatening. "Who the fuck do I need to kill in order to keep my country safe this time?"
"I learned it on my own," Robb replied, his voice cool and calm, never flinching at the knife half an inch away from nicking his jugular. "And save the threats, Lund. If you wanted to kill me, you would have done so already. But, if it makes you feel any better; no, we haven't told anyone else. Ezra and Sabine just noticed the patterns," he added. "You do anything to those kids, though, and you will know just how wroth an aggrieved direwolf can be."
Slowly, Lund released his grip on Robb's collar, and sheathed his dagger, though the rage in his eyes did not subside.
"Mark my words, Stark," he growled, "if you ever tell a word to anyone, I'll have my agents arrange some unfortunate incidents for the whole pack of you. I'll make sure to cover my tracks and blame it on the Empire, afterward."
"Noted," Robb retorted. "Now, do you mind telling what Prometheus is, now? I swear by my father's grave that not a word of what you say will leave this room on pain of death, etcetera."
Lund sighed and pinched the bridge of his snout. "Argh. Where to begin…" he began. "Approximately half a cycle ago, we had heard rumors that the Empire was building some sort of doomsday weapon. Some of us wanted to dismiss it at first, but there's a little game I play when it comes to the Empire or any potential threat to our safety and liberty- what is the worst possible motive they could have? Therefore, my ministry and I treated the rumors as already established fact. The Empire has the resources, the manpower, and the motivation to build weapons of unparalleled destruction, so why would they not? They are a government based on fear, after all, and what better way to spread fear than having the power to destroy entire planets?"
Theon nodded. "Well, at least you're right on the planet-killer the Empire is building. Last I was briefed by Rebel command, we had tracked it down to somewhere around the Scariff system. They're supposedly calling it 'Project: Stardust' or 'Deep Space One- Orbital Battle Station', though given the Empire's propensity for terror, I imagine the actual name for it is something grandiose and terrifying."
"All the more reason for our response," Lund replied. "We knew that whatever the Emperor was constructing obviously didn't spell good news for anyone, least of all us. Hence why it was almost unanimously decided among the council that a response was needed."
" 'Almost' unanimously?" Robb questioned. "Who was the sole dissenting vote?"
"Take a fucking guess," Lund groaned. "The king's oh-so-noble brother."
"Ah," was all Theon could say.
"At any rate, with the approval of his grace, we decided that a deterrent was needed. Something that could match this threat in destructive capability, and exceed it in logistical ease and secrecy," Lund continued. He pulled out a miniature holo-projector out of his back pocket and keyed in a code that only he and a select few others must have known. Immediately, the projector whirred to life, displaying a simulacrum of a missile.
"A missile?" Robb questioned for both of them.
"To be technical, a torpedo, but yes," Lund clarified. "The Ministry of Defense classified it as the SM-8 Incendiary Munition, Particle Disintegration, but most who've worked on this project have taken to call it the Atmospheric Incinerator Torpedo, or the Firestarter Missile."
Theon felt the blood drain from his face. His worst fears were confirmed- Arcadia was building superweapons, as a response to the Empire building their own, and he feared that little good would come of this.
"I'm almost afraid to ask what this weapon entails," Robb said, as the Grey-Wolf adopted a wary countenance, "and for what reason you decided to go with a planet-killer, yourselves."
"Well, for the first part of your 'not-question'," Lund gruffly answered, "the weapon's effects are in the name. The torpedo is relatively small, about the size of a Corellian gunboat, which means that it can be carried by most of our capital ships. This makes it cost-effective, and less prone to sabotage, see." He took a moment to clear his throat, then continued. "Once a planet has been targeted for bombardment, the weapon is launched from its host ship into the stratosphere, or wherever the most likely combustible gasses are located. Once the bomb detonates, a series of self-sustaining thermonuclear reactions occur, causing an intense firestorm that will sweep over the planet, burning away the atmosphere, incinerating the biosphere, and boiling the hydrosphere away, all within the span of a few minutes. Once the firestorm dies down, nothing would be left but a dead, blackened rock utterly incapable of supporting any life on its own again, at least not without serious restoration efforts. Those, may I remind you, are extremely expensive and time-consuming."
Theon tried to contain the disgust building within him. For what purpose was there in incinerating an entire planet…
Well, there is one purpose, he thought, but I pray to the Drowned God that we won't have to resort to using that tactic against them.
He suppressed a shudder. No matter what this galaxy threw at him, nothing could compare to the horror of facing down the White Walkers and their seemingly endless hordes of undead warriors. If there were such a time that they had to use a weapon like the Arcadians designed against the legions of the dead, then all else would have failed, and he hoped to the gods that it would not come to that.
"As for your other question," Lund continued, interrupting Theon's thoughts and speaking before Robb could retort, "I'll let you in on an ill-kept secret: Arcadia's military may be well-trained, organized, disciplined, and equipped with the latest and greatest in military hardware, but we cannot win a war of attrition with the Empire. As you lot may know, nine times out of ten, it is the side with the numerically superior force that wins, and the Empire outnumbers us in manpower at least ten to one. We don't have the resources to sustain an offensive war with them, and we don't have the reserves to last for more than a decade in a completely defensive war. We need every advantage we can get our hands on, and this offers us a powerful deterrent against an otherwise expansionist and bloodthirsty regime. Our flags may bear an eagle, but truthfully, we are more like badgers with this. Make no mistake, the incinerator warheads are a weapon of last resort, but ones we will use if all else fails." He stared at both of them. "Remember, none of this leaves this room. Ever."
Theon saw Robb nod, though it was a terse nod, the kind one did when one wanted to retort but held their tongue. Obviously, Robb wasn't into the idea of superweapons, and for obvious reasons- they never discriminated between the innocent and the guilty. Men, women, and children would be incinerated in a near-instant, and this would also remind him too strongly of the stories of how his grandfather and uncle met their deaths.
"Now, enough talk about superweapons," Lund changed the subject. "Let us get back to the matter of Ramsay and his conspiracy. Your young friends informed me that they've narrowed down the possible leads of whoever is supplying the murderous whoreson to the highest levels of government. Obviously, it must be one of the council, given the large sums involved and the rapid speed at which this Bolton character seems to know of our movements."
"Do you have any suspects?" Theon questioned.
"A few, and I know a few ways of drawing out my prey, now I have eliminated who it could possibly be. But you needn't concern yourselves with that. All you two need to do is capture Ramsay and make him spill. I don't particularly care how you do it or what you do with that fucker afterward, just as long as the hand behind him is caught before he or she can do any further damage."
With that, Lund pushed past both of them and headed out the door, mumbling something about being made late for a bloody appointment.
After he had left, Robb and Theon elected to walk back to their rooms in silence, each stewing and churning over what had been revealed to them, and what the potential consequences were.
A particularly horrid thought had entered Theon's mind. Given the fact that this person, whoever it was, had been leaking Lund's movements to Ramsay, who was to say that they weren't also leaking the secrets of this weapon to the Empire or another unsavory group? This had the potential to turn into an arms race, with each power building stockpiles of incinerator torpedoes, until each had enough to ignite the entire civilized galaxy several times over. The Night King's work would be practically done for him, and sentient kind would end in the fire instead of ice.
He steeled himself. None of them would let it come to that, not if the Rebellion had any say about it.
He just hoped that they lived through whatever was about to happen next.
A/N: So, another chapter is done.
The reason this one took me a while is that I'm heading back to college and starting a new part-time job. Therefore, I'm going to be extra busy and probably only have time to work on this on the weekend. Don't worry, though. I'll get updates to you.
If the Atmospheric Incinerator Warheads look familiar to anyone, it's because I based them on cyclonic torpedoes from WH40K and the Galaxy Gun from SW Legends. I find the idea of a weapon that can essentially glass a planet in a fraction of the time it takes to do a thorough orbital bombardment with dozens of ships to be fascinating, in a macabre sort of way.
This chapter is going to be dedicated to my late cousin, Brandon Lee Barbo, who was killed on the 31st of March in a car wreck. He was only 19 years of age. May I see you again in the green fields of heaven, little cousin.