Atlas Fallen

by Jessica Pierce

  “What’s the meaning of this?” his father shouted. “Will someone please explain to me why a servant barged into my chambers in the middle of the night?”

  Jasmeen bent into a deep curtsy. “Your Majesty, Advisor Doyle is... missing. We don’t know his whereabouts, but we think he may be planning something against one of the station’s visiting diplomats.”

  Kyrartine exchanged furious whispers with Cademore and Gifford, as the Grand Imperator narrowed his eyes at his son. “Tell me I have not been summoned because of your silly little theory.”

  “It’s not a silly theory if there’s evidence to support it,” argued Daxton. “We found a video of Doyle selling Mother’s jewels to a known gang member who lives on the station, and there is reason to believe he traded them for a weapon.”

  For a moment, Daxton thought his father would strike him. The Imperator’s voice lowered to a lethal growl. “Guards, escort the Prime Heir back to his bedchambers immediately.”

  Cademore and Gifford grabbed him roughly, and Daxton tried to wrench himself free, but the lieutenants tightened their grip. Jasmeen stepped forward to intervene, but Sav pulled her back against the wall.

  “Don’t do this,” Daxton pleaded to his father. “Think of Earth. Think of your people. Would you have me inherit a war?”

  The Imperator stepped forward, grasping Daxton by the collar of his shirt. “I wouldn’t have you inherit anything, if I could change the laws!” he snarled. “Liam was meant to rule. He was born to lead our people. Instead, the world is stuck with a boy who wastes his time screwing Gulch rats and chasing phantoms!”

  “Don’t you dare say that about Tesla,” Daxton roared, shoving his father backward. “You just can’t see any worth in a person who doesn’t have a pedigree or a fortune for you to waste.”

  If Daxton’s voice was icy, his father’s became glacial. “Take His Highness back to the royal chambers at once.” He pointed a finger at Tesla and the others. “You are to have no more contact with my son, do you understand? Trust me when I say that disobeying a direct order from the crown will result in painful consequences.”

  “But—”

  “It’s no use, Jasmeen,” Daxton said. “Once His Majesty has made up his mind, you can’t change it, no matter how wrong he may be.”

  His father scowled, collected his robes, and stormed back toward the royal bedrooms, leaving the space hollow and tense. Daxton fought the urge to run as Cademore and Gifford prompted him forward. He glanced over his shoulder to find Tesla holding a terrified Blitz who still trembled from the outburst. Sav and Jasmeen, their heads nearly touching, no doubt planning on how to fix the situation.

  Keep looking for Doyle, he mouthed to Tesla, but a pair of heavy doors closed behind him before he could catch her reply.

  Kyrartine fell into step next to him. “It won’t be long until you have to make your announcement at the ball,” he whispered as they took a right turn, entering yet another identical hallway. “Until then, you need to stay put where I know you’re safe. Agreed?”

  “Why doesn’t my father care that the kingdom is at risk?”

  “Because he never takes any threat seriously,” Kyrartine replied. “He acts like the throne is invincible, and his blindness does nothing but make us weaker. You can put up walls against the devil, but sometimes he’s already inside.”

  “Kyr, you have to find Doyle. You have to help the others. Use the Sec-Bots, or the entire army of security force personnel—anything you need—but stop Doyle before anyone gets hurt.”

  Kyrartine patted his shoulder with a smile. “Of course I’ll help them. But the important thing is that you stay with your guards. Otherwise so much can go wrong. Promise me you’ll stay where I can protect you until the ball?”

  “Just swear to me, Kyr,” Daxton begged, voice cracking with fear. “Vow that you’ll keep Tesla safe.”

  He could only imagine how frightened she had been at his father’s rage. Daxton wanted to rush back to her, to apologize for ever bringing her into this mess, but still he walked on, back to his plush cell with its immaculately papered walls and suffocating luxury. His father was right about chasing phantoms; he’d always be haunted by Liam’s ghost, by what might have been had his brother survived.

  The dim blue lights lining the station’s corridors glowed against his feet, and he thought back to the night he had first met Tesla. What would his future be like if they had both lived on the Atlas together and had gone through pilot training side-by-side? He smiled at the idea of her outranking him, barking orders in her musical voice.

  They could have built a life here—together.

  Cademore thrust open the door to Daxton's bedchambers, taking a quick moment to sweep the room for any sign of danger. You should be sweeping the station for Doyle, he wanted to shout, but knew it was no use.

  He ordered the guards to stand outside and collapsed onto his bed. The light from the fireplace licked against the walls as he fell asleep, his body shivering from dreams of Liam’s face, contorted in agony, peering out from beneath the wreckage, the Imperator’s crown clutched firmly in his cold, lifeless hands.

  THIRTY-TWO

  THE CRUSH OF PEOPLE PRESSING through the alley of textile shops unnerved her. Tesla stood with her back to a shoe stall, occasionally whispering to the others through her wristcomm. They’d barely slept, and only after most of the night had found them sprawled out in her tiny apartment, poring over detailed maps of the Atlas. She’d awoken to find Jasmeen peeking through the small viewing port on her front door.

  “Where are you, Doyle?” the girl had muttered to herself while twirling a small blade between her fingers.

  When she closed her eyes, Tesla could see the Grand Imperator’s ruby face, his teeth bared against Daxton. It had become clear last night why the two didn’t get along. The Grand Imperator hated to be challenged at his word—that much was clear—and he made no effort to hide his bitterness that Liam had been the rightful Prime Heir. The look on Daxton’s face last night had crushed her. Why couldn’t the Grand Imperator see the damage his words caused?

  Without a clear plan, Tesla and the others had split up. Sav had decided to visit the royal kitchens to ensure none of the banquet food for the ball would be tampered with, while Blitz resumed his scans of the station’s live security feeds from a dataport near her current position in Level Four’s shopping district. Overhead, a large holovision intermittently flashed the official First World Union photograph of the advisor. The image appeared to be just a glitch in the newsfeed, but it was the best they could do to broadcast his face throughout the station.

  After much arguing, they’d finally agreed that it made sense for Doyle to stick to the area around the deimark. His immaculate appearance and striking violet eyes would cause him to stand out in the lower levels, and anyone in the upper station would surely recognize him. The station’s middle was a blending of classes: the place where the lower elite rubbed elbows with rising alleyrats. And the busy shopping district provided enough anonymity for Doyle to stay hidden.

  A small, balding man skittered toward her left, and Tesla moved like smoke, silently pushing her way through the crowd. Blitz raised his eyebrows, but she shook her head. Where Doyle’s nose was hawkish and pointed, the man in the market had large nostrils that spanned nearly the width of his entire face.

  “Not him,” she said into her wristcomm under the guise of adjusting her hair. Across the rows of common area tables, near a food stall painted to look like a high-tech armored elephant, Jasmeen blinked twice in acknowledgment.

  “Chef Jambin says no one knows which dish goes where except him,” Sav said through the wristcomm. “Given that information, death by poison seems a bit sloppy. There’s no guarantee Doyle would hit his target. But I’ve left Jambin with a dozen or so antidotes for the more common tonics, just in case.”

  “Nothing on the vid-feeds,” came Blitz’s voice. “We’ve been at this for hours and the only thing I’ve accomplished is fin
ding every makeout spot on this entire hunk of junk.”

  Tesla saw Jasmeen’s mouth press into a thin line as she weaved her way through a large crew of station workers headed to farm the hydroponic gardens. “Maybe the picture on the holovision was a bad idea,” she admitted. “If Doyle has seen it, he probably knows we’re on to him. It may be pushing him deeper into the shadows. Do you think Yosef may be giving him sanctuary?”

  “No,” Tesla insisted for the second time in as many hours. “Yosef is a ball of space slime, but he’s not a revolutionary. Besides, he’s making huge plays at Minko’s territory. He wouldn’t risk all that to help a mouse pretending to be a lion.”

  “And we still think the African High Chancellor is the target?” Jasmeen asked the group.

  It was Blitz who responded. “Maybe, although I did find several emails he sent to an encrypted source regarding the available supply of something. He threatened to kill the person if they backed out of the deal.” Static crackled through a pause, and the boy continued, “There’s something else. I’ve taken a look at Doyle’s accounts. He’s in some serious debt. There are large amounts of corpCredits being deposited, then almost immediately withdrawn. He’s definitely financially compromised.”

  Across the alley, Tesla spied Jasmeen rubbing her temples. “So, he’s either been stealing from the royal family for a while and selling the goods, or he’s a hired gun and someone is paying him to kill Imani Nwotu. It makes more sense that a weasel like Doyle wouldn’t be the actual brains behind this whole mess.”

  “Then who is?” Sav asked. “We looked at Chen Yao, and we all agreed that the guy seemed clean. Who else could want Nwotu dead?”

  Tesla shifted to allow a man past, the yellow of his jumpsuit identifying him as a station teacher. “When Minko needs a job done, he hires someone to do it for him so that he can keep his hands clean. Maybe Chen Yao is doing the same with Doyle,” she said.

  “All this guess work and we’re no closer to figuring out what Freiter meant about there being a Crow Strike on the station,” Jasmeen said, hopping over a small divider to stand by her side. “He shouldn’t have made his warning so cryptic.”

  Tesla couldn’t agree more, but now it made sense as to why Freiter had been so secretive. No doubt he knew that Doyle would read the message and prevent Daxton from receiving it if it seemed to incriminate him.

  “So, does anyone have a plan?” asked Sav. “We’ve been at this all day and it’s almost time to meet Daxton.”

  A sharp tone blasted through her wristcomm and Tesla winced, pulling the device away from her ear.

  “S-sorry,” Blitz stuttered. “Got a bit of a shock just now, but I’m okay. I’ve finished reprogramming every Sec-Bot on the Atlas to send me an alert if Doyle is spotted. At least then we can get ready for tonight without losing our eyes on the station.”

  Jasmeen laughed. “You say that like it’s nothing to rewrite and illegally modify an entire protocol sequence for a Collux Corporation sentry.”

  Blitz’s sigh echoed through Tesla’s wristcomm. “All this time, and still you doubt my genius.” The comm beeped once, ending his connection.

  “I don’t doubt Boy Wonder,” said Sav from behind them, having finally returned from the diplomatic kitchens. “One day that madman will create and program the perfect robot girlfriend.”

  Tesla’s lips quirked upward. “For him or for you?”

  He threw an arm around both girls, giving each a devilish grin. “It’s not like me to kiss and tell. Now, which of you stunning ladies will be my date for the ball?”

  KIYO WAS RIGHT ABOUT the silk having sold out days ago. The sleek clothing racks in the textile alley were nearly bare, and the remaining dresses were either too revealing or tight enough to cinch her legs together completely, making it nearly impossible to walk, let alone run fast enough to prevent a terrorist attack.

  “Why can’t I just borrow one of your gowns?” she whined as Jasmeen stuffed her into yet another ruffled travesty. Buttons down the side of the dress bit into her hip, and the flowing layers made the train of the gown look like a tattered heap of bedsheets.

  “Because I only brought one,” Jasmeen said simply. “My talents lie more in neutralizing threats than producing eveningwear out of thin air. Now hold still.” She yanked the bodice laces tighter. “There. That wasn’t so bad, was it?”

  Tesla gasped, struggling to breathe without the fabric slicing into her ribs. “If this is what Cerise goes through for every red carpet, the girl is stronger than she looks.”

  Jasmeen quieted, suddenly preoccupied by jackets hanging on a nearby rack. “It’s not all bad. The galas and stuff, I mean. It can actually be quite lovely with the right person by your side to make you laugh through the nonsense of it all.” Her eyes took on a faraway look, and Tesla could only guess she was thinking of Liam.

  She paused, then softly said, “I’m so sorry. Daxton told me what happened.”

  Jasmeen gave a sad smile, and the tattoo circling her temple pulsed with a dim, iridescent glow. “You’ve joined the inner circle of trust, then. It’s a good sign.” Her fingers wrapped around a beaded halter top more suited to Minko’s pleasure draadharts. “I like to think I would have made a good Imperatoress. Maybe not the most elegant, but a sensible one. Liam had so many ideas on how to help the planet thrive—ideas on how to best bring prosperity to all classes, not just the super rich.” She sighed. “Cerise will have a lot to learn if Daxton goes through with the announcement tonight.”

  “What did you mean before when you said, ‘It’s a good sign’?”

  “Isn’t it obvious? Daxton is falling in love with you.”

  Tesla felt breathless, and it had nothing to do with the corset still clinging to her skin. It’s ridiculous, her brain shouted, to think the prince would fall for you. Daxton had made it clear in the starcraft that he couldn’t offer her anything, including his heart. Besides, it could never work. Not with Cerise in the way.

  But still... Daxton shared Liam’s vision of uniting the classes. The way he’d taken care of her after Naamah’s attack and his devotion to his friends proved he saw beyond the classism of the older generations. Liam had loved Jasmeen deeply, and she him, judging by the look still lingering in the girl’s eyes. Was it really so impossible to think Daxton couldn’t love her just as fiercely?

  The dress suddenly seemed even more ridiculous as Tesla muttered, “Well, it doesn’t matter now.”

  Jasmeen’s wristcomm pinged with a message from Blitz. “They want to go over the layout of the ballroom one more time,” she said to Tesla. “Will you be alright if I leave you to get ready on your own?”

  Tesla rolled her eyes at the wariness in Jasmeen’s voice. “Of course. I’m not completely hopeless.”

  “We’ll meet you back at your apartment in a few hours to pick you up and escort you to the ball. Daxton transferred your invitation, so you’ll be able to pass through the deimark as Sav’s guest.”

  “As long as he keeps his charm to himself.”

  “That I cannot promise,” Jasmeen said, laughing over her shoulder as she exited the store. “But if there’s anyone I trust to keep him in line, it’s you.”

  Tesla turned back to the three-sided mirror edged in harsh halogen rope lights. It was silly, she knew, but if this would be the only time Daxton ever saw her dressed to perfection, she wanted to look, well, perfect. The dress stared back at her in disastrous layers and wrinkles that looked too much like her own deepening grimace. She changed back into her regular clothes, deciding to take a chance on the only shop she had yet to check.

  With a strange look, the shopkeeper beckoned Tesla deeper into the shanty structure, guiding her between precarious shelves threatening to spill their odds and ends all over the shop’s floor. “In the back,” the plump woman croaked, her voice a raspy gravel against the shadowed room. She pointed to a door nearly hidden behind a tower of threadbare coats.

  To Tesla’s surprise, the winding path led to an organi
zed room filled with neatly folded garments, shoes, and glittering costume jewels hanging from rusted screws jutting from the walls. The gowns were elaborate and stunning—ethereal, even. Another hatchway to her right read GREEN ROOM: CAST ONLY.

  It’s a theater wardrobe, she realized.

  The idea of wearing a costume made Tesla’s face break out into a grin. It was just what she needed—to be a richie in appearance only, like wearing a suit of armor as protection against a den of wolves. She fingered a soft, delicate lace dress whose bottom had been dipped into a bright yellow dye. Each swirl and intricate detail of the fabric was synthetic, of course; the skill of lace-making had been lost long ago, back before the Great War. Now, all such filigree came from draadharts with seamstress programming. Tesla had seen her mother try to replicate it once, though her efforts had resulted in something that more closely resembled a bird’s nest. Her father had laughed at the time, but later, after her mother was gone, she’d often found him caressing it as if it would leave him, too. He’d carried the petite scrap of fabric to his execution, never letting it fall from his hands, even as his body had crumpled to the floor.

  Find the penny. She still had no idea what his last words meant. And why should she care, after seeing the video in Commander Grey’s office? Nevik Petrov had chosen his own path, and that path didn’t include sticking around to see his only child grow up. Daxton’s quest to find the assassin had kept Tesla busy enough not to deal with her anger and shame about her father’s crimes, but here in the twinkling glitter and faux furs, the emotions came forward in a rushing solar flare.

  I’m Tesla Petrov. The daughter of a traitor.

  It wasn’t just that her father had thrown his life away; his choice had crushed her own dreams. He must have known what his conviction would mean for her—how they would strip the wings from her flight suit and toss her back below the deimark. She’d believed in her father’s innocence. For months, the need to clear his name had been the only thing keeping her from complete despair. Without it, she felt unbalanced, as though the station were tilting sideways, leaving her world to shift and rotate on the wrong axis.