Duty. The word made him want to scream. It was a shadow haunting him, following him through the station’s corridors, a shroud growing heavier with each minute. His gaze flickered to the painting. Liam never shirked his duty. He had thrived on it. “You don’t need to educate me on responsibility,” said Daxton. “I know I’m not the heir my father expected, but I will try to follow his commands. Even if that means marrying a stranger. Is that what you want to hear?”
“I want you to give your father’s idea a chance. I want you to really think about your happiness, but,” she said, looking pointedly at the chrome and white exterior of the LiteHover 9X drone sitting on the floor near the nightstand, the device which had so impressed Tesla at the party, “I also want to hear that you will leave childhood things behind, including anything that may... distract you from your responsibilities.”
Her meaning was not lost on Daxton. The Prime Heir had all the luxuries in the world—other than free time and the chance to be normal. He was only nineteen, but he had to be so much older in spirit, lest the world think him a child. He remembered a time when he’d wanted to visit the zoo with his tutor, Lord Tully, but his father had refused, on the grounds that his son should sit in the Senate all day and take notes. Daxton had been only five, barely able to properly hold a datapad and a stylus.
Just like the zoo, his parents considered Tesla a distraction. Daxton hadn’t just invited her to the ball because he needed her help; he’d enjoyed her company enough to consider the possibility of having fun at a ball for once. They could talk about aviation, a topic most people his age found extremely dull. Granted, he hadn’t realized she was a station worker. But why should that change things? She was intelligent, and charming, and interesting, unlike most of the High Chancellors’ daughters, who cared more about finding husbands than having their own pursuits. His father disapproved because she didn’t offer any political ties. No power. No chance to strengthen the throne. Daxton would be lying if he said that didn’t make Tesla all the more appealing.
But, ultimately, he couldn’t marry someone like Tesla. No matter how much the Imperator claimed to give his son freedom in his choice of bride, Daxton knew the Prime Heir was expected to align himself with a girl of a certain social standing, education, and connection. A bride that would bring some advantage to the crown. Advantage to his father’s rule. And the Imperator would make sure to have the final say.
“As I’ve said before, Tesla will not be attending the ball. It seems she has other plans.” He leaned his head back into the chair and covered his eyes with the crook of his arm. “You can tell Father he has won this round,” he muttered.
“Your father is a good man,” his mother insisted. “And much to my surprise, I did learn to love him after a time.”
“He isn’t making me marry because it will somehow help me. He’s making me marry to avoid embarrassing him further. Don’t think I can’t see through his motives.”
“He is the Grand Imperator, and with that comes the burden of difficult choices. He must serve, concurrently, as father, lawyer, king, and judge. When you are Imperator, you will understand.”
Daxton rubbed his eyes. The conversation was more than his patience could tolerate after the events of Tesla’s apartment. “We both know Father will die with his crown clutched so tightly in his fist that the strongest man in the kingdom won’t be able to pry it from his grasp.”
“Tomasz—”
He stood from the chair in a single movement, whirling on his mother. “You came here because you wanted to tell me something. For the sake of me actually enjoying the rest of my evening, just say it.”
The Imperatoress pursed her lips at his outburst. “Fine. I’ll be the first to admit there is a chance you may hate your bride. There’s a chance she may be unbearable much of the time. But there is also a chance that you can find love.” She swept her skirts into her hand and stood with an immaculate grace learned from years of etiquette lessons. “I know change can be terrifying, but change can also lead to your next great adventure.” She chanced a kiss to her son’s cheek, but Daxton turned away. “Despite what you believe, I want you to be happy.”
“By making me marry a stranger.”
“By making you a proper prince. It’s time to say goodbye to your brother, Tomasz.” She patted his hand twice and exited the room, her eyes careful to avoid the portrait of Liam on the wall.
Daxton’s shoulders drooped. Would he be lucky enough to find a bride he wouldn’t entirely loathe, or would the remainder of his life be spent ducking through palace rooms to avoid a wife he couldn’t stand? The palace in New London was large enough—maybe he, too, could hide from her in the pantry, surviving on poifruit tarts like some deranged palace rat. Chef Jambin had brought the kitchen staff on board to help with Centennial. He made a mental note to get on the cook’s good side before he returned to Earth.
A digital notification sounded from the table beside his bed. Daxton retrieved his HDP from the night stand drawer, scanned his thumbprint, and read the blinking chat message.
SAVOIRE19: Update?
Daxton smiled at the text, returning the query with a few clicks on the screen’s keyboard.
CYBERCROWN: She’s agreed to help.
SAVOIRE19: And you trust her?
Daxton hesitated. Did he trust Tesla? She’d lied to him already, and he got the impression she hadn’t been at the party for the food. Still, what choice did he have? Time was running out. He stared at the screen before typing.
CYBERCROWN: Yes.
SAVOIRE19: Good enough for me. Jasmeen isn’t convinced.
CYBERCROWN: It’s her job not to trust anyone. ETA to station?
SAVOIRE19: 16 hours, unless Blitz gets another volt.
CYBERCROWN: Comm me when you arrive. Dax out.
They’d be here in less than a day, and then the real search for whoever Freiter had tried to warn them about could begin. He terminated the link and set the HDP back in the drawer. The LiteHover 9X’s slumbering optical units peered blankly toward the ceiling.
Daxton’s mouth slowly spread into a grin. If he had to give up childish things, at least he could still enjoy them one last time, in a send-off that would make his father explode with rage.
If he only knew.
Daxton’s smile faded slightly as he thought of Tesla. He respected her determination and her abilities; not many women he knew could carry on with life after losing both parents and indenturing themselves to a crime lord. He could admire, and even envy, her deep sense of pride and independence. She would help him search the ship, but their relationship would have to remain strictly professional. All pleasant thoughts of her needed to be replaced with saving the Atlas and finding a bride.
He leaned back into the plush fabrics of the bed, his head nearly engulfed by the lux pillows. He knew he should change his clothes, but he couldn’t bring himself to get back up. He’d slept in more uncomfortable things during his hostage training at the academy. Daxton closed his eyes against the flickering firelight and gave in to his fatigue, but as he drifted to sleep, his mind wandered, imagining the feel of silky white curls sliding through his fingers.
TWELVE
TESLA STARED AT THE PACKAGE. "What do you mean, this is for me?” she asked the man again. She yawned once more, astonished at how late she’d slept without having to report for her normal crew duty. Her exhaustion was mostly due to the fight she and Kiyo had for hours. You'll regret this, Tesla. You'll regret losing me as an ally, he had threatened over and over. He'd been wide-eyed and fierce—frightening, even.
The porter shifted, trying his best not to stare at her patched eye. “The Prime Heir sent me down to give this to you. Apartment 3507 on Level Eight. You’re Tesla, right?” Though she didn’t answer, the valet pressed an envelope into her hands, saying, “He sent this, too.”
“But what’s in the box?”
He shook his shaved head. “No idea. But whatever it is, it’s heavy.” He glanced back across the market
toward the lifts, clearly eager to retreat back above the deimark. “Please don’t make me haul it back upstation.”
Tesla motioned for him to move the box inside, but not before gripping her father’s knife behind her back. If he tried anything, she’d have the advantage as long as her ribs held out long enough for her to gut him.
He let loose a grunt as he slid the package forward into her apartment. “Do you need anything else?” The thin tone of his voice made it clear he couldn’t wait to leave. She shook her head and the man scurried away.
The box was massive, big enough to hold a person. What in space could it be and why had Daxton sent it to her?
The envelope felt damp in her palm, and she opened it carefully, revealing a single sheet of paper inside that read: I hope this helps. Meet me in the loading docks in one hour. The message was unsigned. She didn’t know whether to be relieved or disappointed that the note hadn’t mentioned anything about the night before.
A quick slash of the knife through the box’s tape caused its flaps to spring open. Curious, she knelt down to pull away the packing insulation, her fingers brushing against something cold and sharp.
She gasped.
A miracle. That’s what she’d told Daxton she needed in order to have a chance at surviving the fight. And a miracle was exactly what he’d sent.
SHE’D BEEN ABLE TO remove the bandage from her eye. Other than the stitches bisecting the curve of her brow, most of the wounds left by Naamah’s attack had already begun to fade, no doubt due to the lux salves Daxton had ordered from the medical bay. A quick stop at a hygiene stall on Level Seven for some cosmetics covered the rest.
Despite having rehearsed a conversation in her head in which she thanked Daxton for his gift, her tongue fell silent at the sight of his tousled hair and look of intent focus. He was examining the manifest of a recently arrived B-Class cruiser spaceship when Tesla approached. “Er—You wanted to see me?”
“Your Highness,” he corrected without looking up from the digital log.
She faltered. “I thought you wanted me to call you Daxton.”
He stepped closer, and she could smell the scent of soap on his skin. “Yes,” he whispered, “when we’re not surrounded by a hundred station workers who might wonder why the Prime Heir is so familiar with a welder. Up here it’s best if you observe protocol.”
He was right, of course, though she didn’t want to admit it. It wasn’t as if they were friends. Just a prince and a welder with a mutually beneficial verbal contract to save the world. Perfectly normal.
Daxton motioned for her to follow. “There are some people I want you to meet. Their ship just docked, so they should be disembarking shortly.”
Side by side, they watched as a cruiser engaged its landing sequence. Tesla’s bioNexus tingled at the thought of taking it for a spin. Focus, she chided herself. That life is over. She pushed the sensation from her mind, turning to Daxton. “About last night...”
“Your personal life is none of my business, Tesla.” He was staring intently at an import license, making a point not to meet her eyes.
“Kiyo isn’t my boyfriend.”
The prince seemed to fumble momentarily before regaining his composure. “I was under the impression that you two are close.”
“We were,” she corrected. “I mean, not as close as he wanted us to be. People can grow up together but still end up following different paths.”
“Speaking of close,” said Daxton, shifting uncomfortably. “Yesterday, and that familiarity, won't happen again. I don’t want you to think I’m overstepping or taking advantage of my position. I mean to be completely professional in our exchange.”
Exchange. His words made something in her chest deflate. She was back to being a business transaction, just like it was with Minko. With the exception that the prince probably wouldn’t kill her. And that he had better manners.
“Dax! There you are!”
Tesla bit back a reply just as a beautiful boy with ebony skin and a heavy French accent greeted the prince with a kiss on each cheek. They embraced, and Daxton patted his friend heavily on the back. “Tesla,” he said, turning to her, “may I introduce you to Medical Officer Lucas Lefevre, better known as Sav. We were in the same year at the academy, though we studied different fields. Sav specializes in anatomy—”
“And in medicine, too,” the boy said, finishing the joke with a booming laugh.
Tesla offered her hand to shake. “It’s nice to meet you... er... Dr. Sav?”
The boy grinned. “Just Sav will do. Besides, I still have three medical school exams before I earn my official title.” He took both her hands, stepping back to admire her with a click of his tongue. “Daxton didn’t mention how magical you look. Very sui generis and mysterious, like a bronzed angel from the ancient worlds.” He winked and leaned forward to kiss Tesla’s hand.
A flush of heat spread across her cheeks, interrupted only when she heard Daxton cough from behind.
“Now you know why we call him Sav,” he explained. “As in, savoir faire. He’s smoother than Bordeaux wine, this one. No lady or gentleman is safe from his charm. Still, he’s the best junior physician I’ve ever met.”
“But you’re not much older than me,” Tesla blurted out. “How can you already be in medical school?”
Sav answered her incredulous look with a pleasant laugh. “That is the problem with the world—they look for wisdom from the old. A young mind can still be a brilliant mind.”
A female voice spoke from behind them. “Just not in your case, eh, Savvy?”
Tesla turned to find a short girl dressed in a cropped flight suit modified with a pallu draped over one shoulder. She wore her black hair plaited to the side in a simple braid. Aside from the beautifully beaded bracelet on her wrist, the girl was dressed for efficiency and comfort. But perhaps the most startling accent on the girl was the stunning face tattoo tracing a line from her brow to her chin.
“Space travel always makes Jasmeen grumpy,” Sav whispered, nudging Tesla’s elbow. “We didn’t pack enough snacks.”
The girl eyed Tesla so intently she began to squirm beneath the scrutiny. “And this is the girl that will help us save the day?” asked Jasmeen, unconvinced. “Doesn’t look like much.” Tesla opened her mouth to snap a retort, but two giant eyes peered out from behind Daxton, causing her to start.
“You said the same about me and now look where we are,” a boy several years her junior chirped cheerily. A pair of thick goggles rested over a bed of spiky red hair. His consonants sounded forced and harsh compared to Sav’s musical voice. German, Tesla guessed.
The boy gave a slight wave. “I’m Noah Kluge, but everyone calls me Blitz.”
“Because you’re fast or something?” Tesla asked.
Sav chuckled. “Not exactly.”
Jasmeen threw an arm around the boy. “Blitz here holds the world record for the most electrocutions survived by any human in documented history.”
“I’m up to two hundred thirty-seven,” he beamed. A spot on the ceiling suddenly absorbed his attention and he began counting quietly under his breath. Every time he got to a multiple of ten, his nose twitched.
“Is he okay?” Tesla whispered to the others.
Sav lowered his voice. “We’re still studying the side effects.”
“Blitz was also in my class at the academy,” Daxton explained. “How many grades did you skip, Blitz? Five? He specializes in everything electronic.”
“Everything?” said Tesla incredulously. He couldn’t have been more than fourteen. When she was his age, the most technical skill she had was not blowing up her apartment’s micro-warmer. “The entire planet runs on electronics. No one can specialize in everything.”
Jasmeen’s eyes narrowed as she stepped forward. Flashes of silver glinted from a dozen cargo pockets, and Tesla realized each one concealed a dagger. The girl must be the group’s weapons expert. “I’ve seen this kid hot-wire a draadhart faster than you can say Gulc
h rat.”
Tesla didn’t back down. “What about richie with something to prove?”
“Ladies,” Sav sighed dramatically, stepping between both girls. “There’s no need to fight over me. Trust me when I say there’s enough to go around.” He wiggled his eyebrows at Jasmeen, who turned her boots back toward the cruiser in disgust.
“Being a weapons expert has made her a bit... intense,” Blitz admitted to Tesla as he watched Jasmeen throw several bags off the back cargo ramp. “But get to know her and she’s actually a really lovely person.”
Sure, thought Tesla. Right up until she drives a dagger through your throat.
“A little help here?” Jasmeen barked from across the loading bay. Sav trotted off after her. They rejoined the group a few minutes later with a cart ladened with suitcases, most of which, Tesla noticed from the luggage tags, belonged to Blitz.
“I didn’t know which gadgets we’d need to find the terrorist, so I sort of brought them all,” the small boy said to the prince, shrugging sheepishly.
“Speaking of, where do we start?” Jasmeen asked Daxton. “You said you have a plan. I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but we’re running out of time. The Centennial’s opening ceremonies are tonight, and the ball is in two days. If this attack is going to happen, we need to move.”
Daxton rubbed the back of his neck. “I do have a plan. Sort of. But first, I promised Tesla we’d help her build a new fightBot. Once that’s done, we can focus on finding the terrorist.”
“Robot fights are illegal,” Jasmeen said, crossing her arms.
Sav snorted. “Like you’ve never done anything illegal. What about breaking into the nuclear hangars in Old York, just to test your little theory? Which turned out to be wrong, I might add.”
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