Atlas Fallen

by Jessica Pierce

  “Have you told your father this? As the Grand Imperator can’t he do something?”

  Daxton ran a hand through his hair. “Don’t you think I’ve tried? He thinks that turning a blind eye to threats against the crown is the same thing as keeping the peace. He’s forbidden me from investigating any further. My uncle is the only one who has listened to me. Kyrartine is sending a shipment of brand new Sec-Bots to the station, but anything more than that would be going against my father, and I don’t think even Kyr is that bold.”

  The stitches across Tesla’s eyebrow throbbed. “Okay, first, why do you trust this source of yours so much? And second, what in space does all this have to do with me?”

  Daxton shifted uneasily. “Freiter and I went to the academy together, but he was kicked out a week before graduation. He took the blame for something... complicated. Anyway, what he did earned my eternal trust. And like I said before, I need your help. I saw the way you helped us escape the party using the service hatches. You navigated the corridors like you knew them by heart. You have knowledge about the Atlas that I don’t, and the ability to investigate in areas where I would look conspicuous.”

  “So ask this Freiter to help you. Isn’t that why he wanted you to meet him on the station?”

  The prince stood, taking a deep breath as he paced several steps. “I can’t,” he admitted, exhaling slowly as his mouth became a thin line. “He’s been missing ever since the message.”

  Tesla closed her eyes. “You want me to help you stop a terrorist based on the cryptic information a missing person gave you? Come on, you have to admit this sounds crazy.”

  “I may have an idea what the message means. Freiter said it was a Crow Strike. I think someone plans to assassinate Imani Nwotu, the African High Chancellor.”

  Tesla raised her good eyebrow. “That’s... quite a leap.”

  “Most of the Red Council’s decisions come down to a single tie-breaking vote, and it’s usually Nwotu who swings the balance of power. She demands that the First World Union responds to the Restoration attacks by scheduling peaceful negotiations between the monarchy and the rebel leaders. There are plenty of citizens who say she’s weak and hate her for those views. Nwotu‘s vote often changes the outcome of the Red Council’s decisions. She stands for peaceful negotiations with the Restoration, and there are plenty of citizens who hate her for it. Plus,” Daxton insisted, his words coming out in a rush, “the African crest is a large raven holding two swords—literally a black bird, similar to a crow.”

  Tesla chewed her lip. “And you’re sure this source of yours isn’t just planning some sort of prank? You truly believe his message is real?”

  His face sobered. “I trust Freiter with my life. It’s entirely possible he gave his own to send me that telecomm. I owe it to him to see this through.”

  The conviction in the prince’s voice made her pause. It was clear this Freiter person meant a lot to him. Whatever he’d taken the blame for must have been extreme. “Alright,” she conceded. “Even if there is a threat, I’m still not certain why I should get involved.”

  Daxton blinked, clearly caught by surprise. “Why wouldn’t you help? We’re talking about an attack on your home—maybe even the start of a war.”

  Tesla shrugged, swallowing a wave of nausea that coursed through her. “War isn’t anything new to the Gulch.” She gently touched the eye patch. “Besides, I have more pressing concerns.”

  “Like the person who nearly killed you tonight?”

  That made her snort. “Naamah? She’s just a little fish trying to swim with sharks.”

  “If you’re concerned about your crew work, don’t worry. I sent a comm to your supervisor explaining that you were needed to help with preparations for the Centennial of the Crown. You won’t be expected back for at least a week.”

  Tesla’s mouth fell open. “You talked to my crew chief without asking?”

  “I-I just thought it would be helpful,” the prince stammered. “Tesla, your injuries are severe. You need to rest.”

  “Did it cross your mind that maybe I would like a say in that decision? Or are you just used to everyone following your princely commands?”

  Anger flashed in his eyes, making Tesla take a step back. “You think you know what it’s like to be the Prime Heir, do you? You think it’s all lux ballrooms and good food and feather beds? I have to marry someone I don’t even love all for the sake of making the world happy, while also stopping a terrorist act which might send the First World Union to war. Forgive me if I took initiative in the matter of your schedule.”

  Tesla ignored the guilt at her comment, still angered by his intrusion into her life. “And did you consider how taking a week off from work would affect me? Did you stop for one minute and wonder how I’ll afford rent? Or food?”

  “I did think of that, and I fully intend to pay you a fair wage.”

  “Because everyone down here has a price, right? Is that why you picked me—because you think you can just buy my help with a wave of your wristcomm? I have...obligations to meet. It’s not exactly a good time for me to be saving the world.” Tesla balled her fists in frustration. Even she knew how selfish the words sounded, but how could she help the Prime Heir and build a fightBot capable of keeping her alive against Radek?

  Daxton rubbed his forehead as he collected his thoughts. “Tesla,” he said after a moment, his voice strained, “without your help, people could die. If it escalates to war, that number could be millions. What could possibly be more important than human life?”

  She didn’t want to admit he was right. Her parents had raised her to always defend others against harm, no matter the cost. What would they think if they could see her now? The thought of Ming and Ren getting hurt—or worse, killed—made Tesla’s guts twist harshly against her aching ribs. She carefully tucked her knees to her chin, sighed, and wrapped the tattered blanket around herself protectively, blinking back the tears of pain that stung her good eye. She had never cried in front of royalty, and she certainly didn’t intend to start now.

  “Minko owns me,” she confessed. “He’s the crime lord of the Red Ashes gang down here in the Gulch. I owe him money for my father’s funeral.” Daxton began to interrupt, but she stopped him. “Before you get any ideas, it’s no use. You can’t pay my debt. I refuse to be purchased by anyone ever again. Besides, he’d just come for me once you returned to Earth. The only way out is to serve my sentence and try to get off the Atlas. There’s a fight scheduled two nights from now to impress some of the attendees of the Centennial. Another crime lord, Yosef, plans to challenge Minko, and I’m stuck in the middle. That’s why Naamah attacked me—to send the Red Ashes a message. And if I lose, Minko will burn me in the incinerator.”

  It was Daxton’s turn to stare at her in disbelief. “I had no idea life was like this on the Atlas. I knew botFights still happened in areas of Shanghai and Old York, but not here. Tesla, I’m so sorry. If we tell Commander Grey—”

  “Commander Grey knows. Everyone knows about the fights. Minko pays the security officers to look the other way. Don’t think for one second that anyone other than Minko is in charge of this station.”

  Daxton thought a moment. “What if I made you a deal?”

  “I don’t make deals anymore.”

  “Not even if the deal means I get you out of the Atlas and down to Earth?”

  Tesla stilled, heart racing from his words. Earth. Could he really get her off the station? Of course he can, he’s the mucking Prime Heir. Still, ever since her debt to Minko, the idea of bargains and contracts made her wary. “So, I help you figure out this threat,” she said, choosing her words carefully, “and you give me passage to the surface?”

  Daxton grinned. “Everybody wins.”

  “And what about the fight? It’s in two days. Chances are we won’t find the threat in time to avoid it. Even if you grant me full access to the junkyard and access above the deimark for better materials, I’m only one person. Two days isn�
��t enough time for me to build anything remotely battle-worthy. Getting a data processor advanced enough to power a giant mech suit will take a miracle from the universe, not to mention the time it takes to calibrate movements and learn a new machine.”

  “You'll have full access to cross the deimark as you please. Freiter wanted me to bring our crew to the station. I’ve already sent them comms to meet me here, so they should arrive tomorrow,” Daxton’s face spread into a grin. “I have a feeling you’ll find their skills useful.” He sat beside her on the couch and extended his hand. “But first, do we have a deal?”

  Could she trust him? His blue eyes scanned her face, and she saw honesty in them. Stubbornness, too. The nearness of him made her throat feel even more dry. Her last deal had cost her freedom—what did she have left to lose?

  The clock in the apartment ticked loudly. Then, ever so slightly, she placed her hand in Daxton’s. “Deal.”

  They shook, but before she could pull away, he turned the back of her hand upward and brought it to his lips. “Thank you, Tesla. And not just on behalf of the First World Union. I’m grateful for your help.”

  Through the flush of heat that rushed to her cheeks, she vaguely heard the chime of her apartment door opening. Someone entered, their arms filled with groceries. Kiyo took in the sight of the Prime Heir sitting in the apartment, lips pressed against Tesla’s hand, and stopped abruptly in the doorway.

  “Well,” he sneered, his eyes blazing like a weld-torch, “looks like someone has a taste for richies after all.”

  ELEVEN

  DAXTON HAD EXPECTED TESLA to have connections on the Atlas, of course she must have, but something about the encounter felt intimate, like accidentally catching a glimpse of a telecomm over a stranger’s shoulder. It wasn’t lost on him that Kiyo must be the boy she’d called out to when he’d found her outside the lift, and again when she’d first regained consciousness. Staring at Kiyo standing in the doorway, Daxton couldn’t deny he felt a strange sort of disappointment.

  His hand turned cold as Tesla jerked her fingers away. Kiyo stared, his blue eyes burning with jealousy. “You accuse me of being slumbait for a Level Two while you’re getting cozy with royalty? How hypocritical, Tesla,” he seethed before mock-bowing to Daxton. “No offense to the Prime Heir.”

  “I’m just helping the prince,” Tesla tried to explain.

  Kiyo cocked his head to the side. “Because he doesn’t have an entire staff that could see to any of his needs? What can you offer him that he can’t buy? Or is he paying for your company right now? That’s low, even for you, Tes.”

  Daxton raised his hands, ready to assure the boy that nothing untoward had happened, when Tesla struggled to her feet, glaring at Kiyo with murder in her eyes.

  “What are you even doing here?” she snapped. “Didn’t you say enough last night?”

  “I came with a peace offering!” Kiyo cried, stepping from the doorway to set the groceries roughly onto the counter.

  Daxton cleared his throat. “I believe I am in danger of intruding on what feels like a private conversation. I think it’s time I excused myself.”

  They couldn’t have been more different: Kiyo, with his tattered overalls covered in scorch marks from working on the ship’s electrical systems, his face sweaty from an entire shift spent in service corridors; Daxton, with his freshly groomed appearance and lux designer clothes. The only thing they seemed to share was a look of grim distrust.

  “I’ll comm you when your assistance is needed,” Daxton said, avoiding Tesla’s eyes. He turned to Kiyo. “I know how this may look, but I assure you Tesla is only helping me with a matter of importance. I hope, from one gentleman to another, that this encounter will not be repeated beyond the walls of this apartment—for as much her sake as my own.”

  Kiyo’s lips drew back as though the air around him had soured. “I never was much good at keeping secrets.”

  Daxton’s fists clenched. The electricity in the apartment shivered, the lights flashing against Kiyo’s angular features. The worker’s attitude put Daxton on edge. If he wanted, he could use his power as Prime Heir to force Kiyo into silence, but judging from the boy’s temperament, that tactic would undoubtedly backfire.

  As Daxton inclined his head to Tesla, a feeling of disappointment washed over him. Was it because Kiyo threatened their plan? Or was it because he had interrupted Daxton’s moment with Tesla?

  To his surprise, Kiyo bowed slightly, moving aside enough for Daxton to exit the apartment. His hands clenched, and he resisted the urge to look back at Tesla once more. There was no mistaking the obvious—as much as he hated to admit the truth, he didn’t fit in below the deimark. Not that he excelled upstation, either. As he descended into the Gulch, shoes clicking against the deck while he walked to the lifts, he wondered, not for the first time, how different life might be out from under the weight of the world.

  DAXTON ENTERED THE elevator, his temples sore from tensing throughout his walk. He felt like a fool. Of course Tesla had someone in her life; he’d been arrogant and naive to assume otherwise. At the party she had seemed so isolated, so alone, and that mirrored Daxton’s own feelings so closely that he had drunk deeply from the moment as if it were lunarshine. But she wasn’t alone. He’d projected his own insecurities outward, and now he felt like an idiot.

  Why did he feel so disappointed? And why did he care, anyway? She was nice enough, sure, but they had just met. With everything on his mind—Freiter’s message, the ball, finding a bride, the negotiations—he was better off channeling his focus toward things of real importance. He would keep his word and get her to the surface once they found the assassin on board. But after that the universe would force them to part ways. She would go on to her new life and he would fulfill his duties as the newly engaged Prime Heir.

  What had he expected? That things would somehow end differently? Your life is not your own. His uncle Kyrartine had told him as much.

  He reached the main lift, careful to avoid being recognized. The lift operator tried to sneak a picture of Daxton with his HDP, but a stern look made the man fumble with the device, nearly dropping it completely. After what seemed like an hour, the face of a draadhart appeared, announcing his arrival to the diplomatic suites. The doors opened and Daxton groaned.

  His mother stood waiting.

  “If you’re here to lecture me, I am absolutely not in the mood,” he said, brushing past her in the direction of his rooms.

  She followed close behind, her soft slippers muffled on the thick carpets. She was as stubborn as Tesla; there would be no escaping her now. “Tomasz LaRose, you will stop at once,” she commanded, both hands on her narrow hips.

  “If you’re looking to speak to me about the ball, you don’t have to worry. Tesla has decided to decline my invitation. The Grand Imperator’s reputation is safe.”

  Imperatoress Vivienne harrumphed. “I’m not here to talk about your father’s pride. I’m here to discuss the idea of marriage. Now put away your foolish bravado, open that thick skull of yours, and listen to your mother, because I’m only trying to help.”

  She was much shorter than his six-foot frame, but she still presented an extremely intimidating figure. Daxton could remember a time when she’d chased a paparazzi from outside Liam’s bedroom. The towering man had seemed nearly double her height, but she’d flapped her arms like an angry goose and the man had scuttled away in fear, tumbling straight into the palace briar bushes. It was a story she loved to tell over a warm cup of Darjeeling tea.

  Daxton took a deep breath. The conversation was inevitable, he knew, which made him all the less enthusiastic about being cornered. He motioned for her to follow him to his room. If he was going to be treated like a child, at least he could direct it away from the prying eyes of the royal staff.

  The foyer split in two directions; at the end of a long hall to the right of the lift were two magnificently lux doors leading into his personal suite, each side flanked by a liveried figure. A female
servant bowed to the Imperatoress and turned the door’s handle, revealing a bedroom large enough to hold five of Tesla’s apartments. Crimson fabric adorned the suite’s walls, surrounding a massive canopy bed covered in soft, heavy fabrics. A small sitting area ringed an electric fireplace, above which hung a moving holo-portrait of a uniformed Liam grinning wildly before a new S-Class Warship. Daxton’s heart ached at the sight.

  His mother glided to a seat near the fireplace, sinking her small frame into a high-back, embroidered chair. She looked at him expectantly, and he sat in the opposing seat, bracing himself for the conversation to come. The only way to get rid of his mother was to humor her, and after the ordeal with Tesla and Kiyo, Daxton was ready for some mucking peace.

  “You know,” his mother said, “your father wore this horrid hat the day I met him. He was stuffy and red-faced, and I begged your grandmother to cancel the engagement. And that hat—my stars—a monstrosity of feathers with little shiny bells on the end. He looked like the First World Union geneticists had somehow constructed a hybrid creature that was half-jester, half-peacock. In an instant, I decided I could never love him.”

  Daxton stifled a look of surprise. His parents had been in love longer than he could remember. He’d heard stories of their betrothal, of course, as it had effectively quelled an attempted uprising by the Polish Sector citizens who wished to challenge the First World Union’s policies on trade embargoes. But his mother had never given an indication their courtship had been anything other than love at first sight. “If he so was bad, why did you marry him?”

  The Imperatoress chuckled. “Believe me, I tried to avoid him. I even ran away, you know—well, I almost ran away. I didn’t get far. Your uncle Kyrartine found me tucked in the kitchen pantry packing some of Chef Jambin’s poifruit tarts for my escape.” She inclined her head forward, studying her son’s features. “But in the end, I had a duty to fulfill. Two months after meeting your father, I joined him at the end of the aisle in Westminster, recited the Old Vows, and took my place as half the ruling force of the First World Union.”