Atlas Fallen

by Jessica Pierce

  “That was different,” she growled. “At least I wasn’t doing it for some crime slug.”

  Tesla’s ears grew hot with embarrassment. Just how much had the prince told his friends? Whatever Jasmeen thought, Tesla wasn’t just some Gulch rat. She might not be some lux richie with enough corpCredits to buy a trip around Mars—or a weapons expert with hidden daggers and a bad attitude—but she wasn’t worthless.

  “It’s the deal I made, okay?” Daxton said, cutting off further argument from the girl. “We need her, Jasmeen. None of your skills are going to be any good if we can’t move around the station. Tesla gets us access to places even you can’t really go.”

  Jasmeen grumbled something about not trusting her, but otherwise stayed silent.

  “The fight is actually a great place to start the investigation into Freiter’s message,” said Tesla. “Commander Grey has security forces scanning every single starcraft that comes to the station, which means there’s no chance someone could smuggle a weapon on board. If there really is an assassin on the Atlas, they’ll probably reach out to the black market dealers to get their hands on a pulse blaster or another weapon that is easily concealed. Since Minko’s fights are illegal, they draw just the kind of people who might be able to give us a lead on any recent transactions.”

  Daxton nodded. “Tesla makes a good point. We can use the fight to our advantage.”

  “So what do we do first?” asked Sav, his accent lifting the words like notes in a song. “Tesla, I am at your mercy with this station. I thought the streets in Delhi Province were confusing, but the Atlas is beyond me.”

  “Well, I think it might be best if we build the fightBot below the deimark,” she began. “Up here it might be suspicious.” She ignored a huff from Jasmeen. “I scavenged the junkyard for the parts we need, and they’re waiting for us in my workroom on Level Eight. The prince was nice enough to give me some additional materials, which I brought there this morning.”

  Sav raised an eyebrow, but Daxton shut him up with a look.

  Blitz adjusted his goggles with a trembling hand. “Deadly mech suits, crime syndicates, and illegal robot fights? Space is going to be fun.”

  Tesla started to lead the group back toward the lifts when a loud groan from Sav stopped her in her tracks. The look in the boy’s eyes made her muscles tense. “What’s wrong?”

  “She’s here.”

  She followed his gaze to find a girl screaming at a pair of workers. Not a single strand of her bright pink hair seemed out of place. Her tight-fitting gold dress shimmered like a thousand yellow diamonds. One of the workers struggled to carry a large designer suitcase, and Tesla thought the girl would tear out his throat.

  “Who is she?” asked Tesla.

  “A pain in the ass,” answered Jasmeen, her hand tightening around the hilt of the dagger. “If you think a terrorist is dangerous, just wait until you meet Cerise Rienne.”

  THIRTEEN

  DAXTON WANTED TO GROAN. Of all the times the starlet could have arrived, why did it have to be the exact moment when he and the others were in the hangar bay? Because she planned it that way, he realized. With Cerise, there were no coincidences—she was as calculated as a sniper drone.

  “I’ve been looking everywhere for you, Tomasz,” the actress purred, sliding her body against his. The girl’s pink hair smelled of lux products, and her eyelids were shaded in golden rose, jeweled accents punctuating the outer corners. A pair of ruby lips lingered just inches from his own, and the prince immediately took a step back, causing the girl to pout.

  Jasmeen leaned back against her heap of luggage. “You mean your little spies have been looking everywhere.”

  Fingers painted in a matching ruby red slid around Daxton’s arms as Cerise turned to the group, her brow lifting in feigned surprise as if just noticing them. “Ah, Jasmeen, it’s been too long,” she crooned. “And look, you brought your little friends. How sweet.”

  The weapons expert brushed the black braid over her shoulder. “Not long enough. Don’t you have some movie to be in far, far away from here? Preferably on the other side of the galaxy.”

  Daxton stifled a laugh by coughing. Cerise scrutinized Tesla’s clothes with growing animosity, not caring to hide her disgust. Though she often played sugar-sweet ingénues in the Earth cinemas, Daxton knew her real personality to be venomous. But, much to his chagrin, public relations between the crown and the people had been much improved by the media linking them as a couple. Darlings of the First World Union, as it were. His father had been over the moon, no doubt already making plans to get his hands on the girl’s immense wealth.

  The movie star ignored Jasmeen’s remark, instead turning to focus on Tesla. “I left a case in my poor excuse for a room on that star-forsaken transport,” she said, pointing an elegant finger back toward the sleek ship on which she’d arrived. “Go and fetch it.”

  Tesla placed both hands on her hips, and Daxton braced himself for what he knew would come. “I don’t work for you.”

  Cerise laughed. “You work for the crown, don’t you? That means you work for me. Now go and get my bag.”

  “No.”

  The starlet’s silver eyes flamed white-hot. “Excuse me?”

  “This is Tesla,” Daxton said, easing himself away from Cerise’s tight grasp, “She’s helping us with a project.” He cleared his throat. “And to be clear—these people work for the crown, but you do not have one.”

  “Not yet,” Cerise conceded, her words like honey on rotten poifruit. She slithered a hand along the prince’s chest. “But we’ll talk about that later. Which reminds me, Tomasz, we have a press conference to attend. Now.”

  He sighed. The Grand Imperator would expect him. Maybe even send Kyrartine’s guards to haul him to the press chamber if he took too long.

  “I’ll catch up with you after,” Daxton said to Tesla. She barely looked at him, setting off toward the lifts with the others, luggage in tow. Keep your distance, he reminded himself. A pop sounded from behind him, bringing Daxton's attention back into focus, but as he looked to the source, he rolled his eyes. Cerise smacked her lips once again, smiling victoriously as she reapplied her lipstick in a small holomirror.

  Her gold dress hugged her curves like a second skin as she pulled him toward the far side of the loading bay, in the direction of a lift reserved for important station guests. Around them, workers stared in awe at seeing the prince and Earth’s biggest starlet together. It didn’t escape Daxton’s notice that more than one man’s face bore a look of envy.

  He wanted to escape, to follow the others down and see Tesla’s workroom. He felt so useless ditching the group for something as asinine as a press conference, but he knew if he didn’t show, any chance of having enough freedom to look for Freiter would be forfeit. Though he loathed the feeling of the startlet’s nails digging into his sleeve as they neared the elevators, the fact that Tesla had defied Cerise made him feel lighter somehow, and he stepped onto the waiting lift with a smile.

  OUTSIDE THE PRESS CHAMBER, a doorman asked for her clearance, and Cerise waved an annoyed hand at the scrawny worker, clearly angry he hadn’t recognized her. Daxton held up a palm to make the boy wait to open the door. He didn’t want to enter the chamber without first making sure the actress wasn’t up to her usual tricks. “What’s your game, Cerise?”

  “Game?” she whispered, her lips forming a delicate, well-rehearsed smile. She traced her finger up his arm to his shoulder. “I’m hurt, Tomasz. All I want to know is why you haven’t announced me as your official date to the Centennial of the Crown.”

  “We’ve talked about this. We’re not a couple.”

  “Not according to the trendmags,” she said with a smirk. “We all know it isn’t news that people believe—it’s the juicy gossip they love to lap up like dogs.”

  He rolled his eyes. “The trendmags keep printing that nonsense, because that’s what you keep telling them.” The doorman cast a sideways glance at the prince and Daxton
lowered his voice, pulling Cerise a few steps away so as not to be overheard. “I know it’s been great for your career, and honestly I didn’t mind because it stopped my father’s lectures for a while. But now things are different. I think we should stop—”

  The sweetness from Cerise’s face evaporated, replaced by her true countenance. Her silver eyes became slits of fury, and her nails clamped down on his arm like a vise. “You’re not thinking clearly, darling, so let me make this easy for you. I know the Grand Imperator is making you marry, and I know you are announcing your bride at the ball. I also know that bride is going to be me.”

  “You’re crazy if you think I’m going to marry you. This has gone on long enough.” He moved to pull his arm away, but she grabbed his shirtfront under the guise of straightening his collar. His tone became one of lethal calm. “Take your hands off me at once. We’re done here.”

  Daxton signaled for a second doorman to escort Cerise inside, but the actress stopped the worker in his tracks with a ferocious look. “If your dirty hands come anywhere near me, I will destroy you. Do you understand?”

  The man nodded in terror.

  “Don’t threaten my citizens, Cerise, or I will come clean to the media about everything. You’ll look like a fool and your career will be ruined. Now, when we walk through those doors to the press conference, you will laugh and smile and tell everyone how we’re great friends, but you’ve decided to move on. Are we clear?”

  The smile returned to Cerise’s face, but it was shaded with malice, causing the prince to shift uneasily. It was the look of a gambler who held the winning cards. “Ruin my career? Do you honestly think I’m dumb enough to not back up my threats? I know things. Things you’d rather keep secret.”

  Daxton scoffed. “What could you possibly have on me?”

  “The truth about Liam.”

  The blood left Daxton’s face. His hands shook as he stepped back, away from the two workers who, mercifully, were engaged in their own whispers. Her steely gaze never wavered, and in an instant, he knew she was telling the truth. “How do you—”

  “Jasmeen was right. I do have spies everywhere. Let’s just say my line of work is filled with gossip, some of which I pay people to investigate. It took a while to discover what really happened that day. You covered your tracks well, I’ll give you that. How shocked would the world be if they learned the whole story? I can’t imagine the look on your father’s face when he finds out. And your poor mother...”

  Daxton’s hands balled into fists. “You’re a snake.”

  Cerise leaned forward and kissed his cheek, her nose crinkling in false sympathy. “But a snake who’s won a throne, sweetheart.” She snapped her fingers at the doormen, who jumped. “Now,” she said, repeating Daxton’s own words, “you will laugh and smile and tell everyone you’re taking me to the Centennial of the Crown. At the ball, you will announce me as your future bride. And do pick out a proper ring. Twelve carats, at least. I’m not some cheapie from the blue-collar districts back home.”

  “What if I refuse?” he said, clenching his fists. “What then?”

  Gloved hands opened the double-doors and she plastered a brilliant smile across her beautiful face. “Then,” she gritted through a set of enhanced white teeth, waving prettily as a flurry of blinding camera flashes announced the arrival of the paparazzi drones, “I’ll tell the entire planet exactly how you murdered your own brother, the true heir to the crown.”

  FOURTEEN

  THE BLAZE OF BLITZ'S WELD-TORCH warmed the room to an uncomfortable temperature. Tesla wasn’t the only one who felt it; both Sav and Jasmeen tugged at their clothes, sweat glistening against their skin. Blitz’s luggage lay open and scattered throughout the space, wires spilling forth from the bags like Bok’s barely edible rice noodles.

  “So,” Sav prompted again, “as I was saying. How did you come to owe Minko this debt?”

  Tesla shrugged, wondering how to explain her arrangement with the crime lord without revealing the truth about her father. She may not know Jasmeen well yet, but she was certain the weapons expert wouldn’t react well to discovering the Prime Heir was being helped by the daughter of a convicted traitor. The way the girl lazily twirled her daggers made Tesla anxious. Jasmeen had kept them close ever since they’d set foot on Level Eight. Not that I can blame her.

  “When I left flight training, I needed money to bury my father,” was all she said, choosing her worlds carefully. Sav considered her answer and nodded, seemingly satisfied.

  Jasmeen flicked a piece of dirt from beneath her fingernail with the tip of a crescent blade. “Daxton said you were attacked yesterday. Why?”

  “Because I work for Minko, and Minko has enemies,” Tesla said easily. That part was certainly true. Blitz called for a double-headed conduit riveter, and she had to root inside several bags before finding the bulky device. “My turn,” she said, handing the boy the tool. “Who is Freiter and why does the Prime Heir trust him so much?”

  “Quiet, gotta be quiet,” Blitz mumbled. “Can’t hear the smoke.”

  Jasmeen’s eyes clouded. She turned her back and walked away.

  It was Sav who spoke. “You’ll have to ask Daxton. It’s not our story to tell.”

  “If I’m putting my life on the line, shouldn’t I be told more about this mysterious source?”

  Sav glanced toward Jasmeen, who took a sudden interest in some saw blades against the far wall. “All I’ll say is that it involves the prince’s older brother, Liam.”

  “If the prince has an older brother, then isn’t the brother Prime Heir? That doesn’t make sense.”

  “Liam is dead,” Jasmeen said coolly. “You’d know that if you paid attention to anything beyond this metal heap of space junk. Or do you think the universe somehow ends outside the station’s hull?”

  “Easy, Jasmeen,” Sav intoned. “She was just asking an honest question.” He turned back to Tesla. “Liam passed away about eighteen months ago from a freak accident.”

  So that’s why the prince and Grand Imperator don’t get along, Tesla surmised. Daxton isn’t the son he planned to have inherit the crown.

  A buzzing akin to a giant wasp echoed throughout the space and shook the walls. White-hot light washed over Blitz. Across the room, a dull thud sounded against a tool chest as he was blown backward by a crackling explosion. Tesla spied a tuft of bright red hair peeking out just above its steel lid, singed spikes pointing in every direction. Two pieces of the conduit riveter twisted around one another, the ends of which had melted beyond repair.

  “S’wires hot,” Blitz gargled. “No touching.” A spark lit in his hair and he licked his fingers to put it out.

  “I think we should be cautious how much information we share,” Jasmeen warned Sav in a not-so-hushed tone. She turned to Tesla, as if suddenly realizing her conversation could be overheard. “Sorry, no offense.”

  “You think you can’t trust me?” Tesla challenged.

  “I don’t know you,” said Jasmeen. “Look, I don’t mean to be rude. Truly, I don’t. But our job on the station is to protect Daxton, even from his own bad decisions.”

  Tesla crossed her arms. “And you think I’m a bad decision? Shouldn’t the Prime Heir have the right to choose the company he keeps?”

  Jasmeen brought her face within inches of Tesla’s. “This team is my family,” she said, gesturing toward the others. “I don’t trust anyone to take care of my family except me. Especially someone who isn’t properly trained. You favor your right leg, you’ve been clutching at your ribs since we got here, and there are rather obvious stitches down your eyebrow. You didn’t just get attacked—you got destroyed. If we’re going to stop this threat and find Freiter, we need people who won’t slow us down.”

  “I was in flight school before my father died,” Tesla reminded her. “Top of my class.”

  Jasmeen looked pointedly at the purple bruises showing through Tesla’s makeup. “How are you going to help us stop a terrorist if you can’t
even fight off an attacker? And how do I know you’re not some Restoration traitor using Daxton for your own agenda?”

  The words left Tesla roiling with anger. Just what is her deal? She straightened her shoulders, pointing a piece of scrap metal at the girl’s chest. “If you ever suggest I’m a traitor again, I’ll show you just how well I can fight.”

  “Enough!” Blitz yelled from behind the welding mask. “Jasmeen, stop forgetting who the real enemy is. If Daxton says we need her, then we need her. End of story. Now, Tesla,” he motioned with a gloved hand, “I need your input.”

  His sudden burst of authority shocked Tesla, but she was grateful for a chance to get away from the weapons expert. Her gut said the other girl was afraid of something—and it had nothing to do with Tesla's skills.

  “So while you’re in the suit, you want as much maneuverability as possible without compromising striking force, right?” said Blitz, pointing to a space on the blueprint. He’d executed her ideas to perfection, and now a crude mech exoskeleton hung from a rafter, its bony, mechanical body stretching at least twelve feet tall.

  Excitement swelled in her chest. In hours, Blitz had managed to do what would have taken Tesla at least a week.

  She nodded, donning an inner control glove to test the fightBot’s range of motion. The suit responded without hesitation, mirroring Tesla’s motions as she curled each digit. “It needs to be able to block and jab quickly, as soon my brain issues a command through the bioNexus. Lag is death,” she explained. “If Radek’s bot gets me against the wall of the cage, I’ll be pinned with no way out. The cage is electrified, so we want to avoid that at all costs. Get pinned and it’s lights out, literally. Yosef might even pay him extra if he chops me in half.”

  “Chops—you—in—half,” Blitz said, adding a note to the schematics. “And you want me to configure the bioNexus processor to these specifications exactly?”

  “The less I have to rely on my hands, the better. Radek’s fightBot is fast, and likely even faster now that Yosef is paying for his upgrades. Using my hands will slow me down. The only advantage we have here is the speed of the bioNexus.” She pointed to a small object in Blitz’s hand. “What’s that?”