Atlas Six (Atlas Series, 1)
Atlas Six: Part 3 – Chapter 11

There was a moment of guarded curiosity as the remaining six appraised each other in silence.

“You’re very quiet,” observed Tristan, turning to Callum, the blond South African who sat on his left. “No thoughts on any of this?”

“No pressing ones,” said Callum. He had a certain look to him; something very old Hollywood, belonging to the perpetual plague of Westernization that Reina had come to loathe rather than admire, but his voice was soothing, his mannerisms almost comforting. “And you sound quite suspicious.”

“My nature, I’m afraid,” said Tristan, rather unapologetically.

Parisa, Reina noted, was looking at her intently. It prompted her to a bit of a shudder, bristling at the slight sense of invasion, which in turn upset one of the nearby ferns.

“That’s odd,” said Libby, for whom the plant had been within sight. She frowned at it before turning back to Reina. “You’re… a naturalist, then, I take it?”

Reina strongly disliked being questioned on the subject. “Yes.”

“Most medeian-level naturalists have more of a handle on their skill set,” observed Parisa, immediately revealing herself to be unpleasant. Not that that surprised Reina at all; most women who looked like Parisa had a lifetime of permission to behave however they liked. Normally she didn’t fault them for it, preferring only to stay out of their way, but this sort of shoved-together experience would obviously render avoidance impossible.

She was starting to wish she’d stayed home.

“Oh, I didn’t mean to imply—” Libby’s cheeks flushed. “I just, I suppose I expected, um—”

“I didn’t study naturalism,” Reina supplied bluntly. “I specialized in ancient magics. Classics.”

“Oh,” said Libby, with faint confusion, and Parisa’s eyes narrowed.

“What, like a historian?”

“Like one,” Reina echoed. Precisely one.

Parisa didn’t seem to care for her tone. “So you didn’t cultivate your own craft at all?”

“What is everyone’s specialty?” Nico interrupted, jumping in as Reina’s discomfort heightened. Probably best, as a silent request from her would have had Parisa locked in a chokehold by the very fern she unwisely suspected Reina of being unable to control.

Nico’s change in conversation seemed to be more in the interest of sparking conversation with Parisa than it had been defending Reina. “Yours, for example,” he suggested to Parisa, prompting her expression to stiffen.

“What’s yours?”

“Rhodes and I are both physicists. Well, physics of force, molecular structures, that sort of thing,” Nico said. “I’m better, of course—”

“Shut up,” muttered Libby.

“—and we have our respective preferred materials, but we can both manipulate physicalities. Motion, waves, elements,” he summarized, glancing expectantly at Parisa. “And you?”

“What about me?” Parisa retorted flippantly.

Nico faltered. “Well, I just thought—”

“I don’t see why it’s necessary that we share the details of our specialties,” Tristan cut in sourly. “We’re competing against each other, aren’t we?”

“But we still have to work together,” Libby argued, looking moderately aghast. “Do you really intend to keep your magic a secret for the next year?”

“Why not?” said Parisa, shrugging. “Anyone clever enough to figure it out probably deserves to, and as far as the intricacies—”

“But it’s not like we can perform as a group while knowing nothing about each other,” Nico attempted, looking as if his intent was to put the others at ease. Reina had a feeling he considered himself likeable enough to manage it, and it was possible he wasn’t wrong.

“Even if one of us is going to be eliminated eventually,” Nico said, “I don’t see how it helps to cripple all of us as a group.”

“You only say that because you already told us your specialty,” Callum murmured, half-smirking, which made Reina like him less.

“Well, I’ve got nothing to be ashamed of,” Nico said, flaring a little with irritation, which made her like him more. “So unless the rest of you have some sort of insecurity about whatever it is you can do—”

“Insecurity?” Tristan scoffed. “So you’re just assuming you’re the best in the room, then?”

“I didn’t say that,” Nico insisted. “I just—”

“He does think he’s the best in the room,” said Parisa, “but then again, who doesn’t? Except maybe you,” she determined, giving Reina an unfriendly glance.

She, Reina thought, was safely at the bottom of the list of people she intended to be friends with.

“I just think there’s some way we can compromise, at least,” said Nico. “Shouldn’t we have some idea who can do what?”

“I agree,” said Reina, mostly because she could see that Parisa and Tristan were resistant. It made no difference to her; everyone already knew her specialty, so she, like Nico and the thankfully now-silent Libby, had no reason not to bolster his argument and pressure the others into confessing. “Otherwise the physical specialties are going to take on the majority of the work, and if I have to waste all my energy on security—”

“Not everything has to be brute force,” said Tristan, irritably. “Just because you have physical specialties doesn’t mean you’ll be doing all the magic.”

“Well, you certainly aren’t giving me a reason t-”

“Stop,” said Nico, and because it was startling, conversation halted. “Who’s doing that?”

Reina detested the interruption, but better Nico than Tristan. “Doing what?”

“Rhodes should have spoken by now,” Nico said, sliding Libby a glance. She blinked, surprised, and then Nico turned his attention back to the others, peering suspiciously at Tristan, Parisa, and Callum. “Someone convinced her not to. Who was it?”

Tristan glanced at Parisa.

“Wow, thanks,” she said drily. “That’s not obvious.”

“Well, you can hardly blame me for—”

“It’s not me,” Parisa snapped, irritated now, and Reina fought a smile. Not only was the Tristan-Parisa alliance cracking early, but now it was obvious what Parisa’s specialty was: she could either read minds or emotions.

“One of you can influence behavior,” Nico accused, adding blisteringly, “Don’t.”

There was only one option left.

One by one, they gradually turned their attention to Callum, who sighed.

“Relax,” he said, crossing one leg listlessly over the other. “She was anxious. I turned it down.”

Libby blinked, suddenly furious. “How dare you—”

“Rhodes,” Nico said. “The air’s too dry for this kind of volatility.”

“Shut up, Varona—”

“So you’re an empath,” said Reina, glancing at Callum, “and that means…” A glance at Parisa. “You can read minds,” she guessed, determining it unlikely that a society claiming to be the most advanced of its kind would invite two pairs of identical specialties.

“Not anymore,” Parisa said with a glare at Tristan. “They’ve all got shields up now.”

“No one can hold that for long,” Tristan said, looking suspiciously at Callum. “Especially if we’re going to have to guard our emotions, too.”

“This is ridiculous,” Libby said, having successfully forced out Callum’s influence by then. “Listen, I’m the last person to ever say Varona’s doing anything reasonable—”

“Who?” said Callum, who was probably being difficult on purpose.

“I… Nico, then, whatever—the point is,” Libby exhaled impatiently, “we’ll never get anything done if we’re all trying to protect ourselves from each other. I came here to learn, for fuck’s sake!” she snapped, which Reina was exceedingly relieved to hear. Libby may have been annoying, but at least she wasn’t afraid to insist on something genuinely important. Her priorities, unlike everyone else’s, were in the right place.

“I absolutely refuse,” Libby huffed, “to exhaust my magic just to keep you lot out of my head!”

“Fine,” said Callum lazily. “I promise not to put any of you at ease, then.”

“Hey,” Nico snapped. “She’s not wrong. I’d like to have some autonomy to my sentience too, thanks.”

Tristan and Parisa seemed to agree, though they weren’t ready to say so.

“Surely we shouldn’t have to explain to an empath why none of us want our emotions toyed with,” Libby insisted.

Callum waved an indolent hand. “Just because I happen to know what your feelings are doesn’t mean I waste time trying to understand them, but fine. I’ll behave if she will,” he added with a sly glance at Parisa, who glared back.

“I don’t influence anyone,” she said, irritated. “Not magically, anyway. Because I’m not an asshole.”

Sure you’re not, thought Reina loudly, prompting Parisa to yet another scowl.

In the absence of any further discussion, the three remaining members had turned to Tristan, whom Reina realized belatedly was the last to reveal his specialty.

“I—” He stiffened, unhappily cornered. “I’m a type of illusionist.”

“Yeah, so am I,” replied Callum, a doubtful drawl. “A bit of a blanket term, isn’t it?”

“Wait a minute,” Parisa said, suddenly recalling something. “Your name is Callum Nova, isn’t it? Of the illusionist Novas?”

The others in the room sat up slightly, expressing interest that even Reina couldn’t prevent. The Nova Corporation was a global media conglomerate who secretly or not-so-secretly specialized in illusions; they were dominant in both the mortal and medeian industries, most adept within the industry of cosmetics and beauty. They were fascinating not only for their products, but for their cutthroat business practices. They had put several smaller companies out of business by repeatedly undermining medeian statutes about how much magic could be used in mortal products.

Not that that was the reason Reina was interested at that particular moment. Rather, she had realized that Parisa was probably piecing together the fact that she’d overlooked the person in the room with the most money, and that brought Reina so much satisfaction the weeping fig in the corner joyfully sprouted fruit.

“Yes, I’m a Nova,” Callum said, not taking his eyes from Tristan, who had still not confessed to anything. “Though, as you’ve clearly pieced together, illusions aren’t particularly my life’s work.”

“Fine,” growled Tristan. “I can see through illusions.”

Immediately, Libby’s hand rose somewhere to her cheek, and Tristan sighed.

“Yes, I can see it,” he said. “It’s just a zit. Relax.”

Then Tristan’s attention traveled slowly back to Callum, who stiffened in apprehension. Delightful, Reina thought. The only thing better would be if Tristan informed them that wasn’t Parisa’s real nose.

“I won’t tell them if you won’t,” Tristan said to Callum.

For a moment, the air in the room was so tense that even the plants grew wary.

Then, abruptly, Callum laughed.

“Let’s keep it between us, then,” he agreed, reaching out to clap a hand around Tristan’s shoulder. “Better to let them wonder.”

So there was an us and them now. That was considerably less delightful.

MotherMotherMother, the ivy in the corner whispered with a shudder of consternation, joined by the hissing sound from the nearby fig plant.

Mother is angry, whimpered the philodendron. She is angry, OhnoOhnoOhno—

“—’s no point fighting about this,” Libby was saying, as Reina quietly engaged a deep inhale, hoping not to spur any nearby greenery to mutiny. “Regardless of what we think about each other, we still have to formulate some sort of security plan, so—”

But before Libby Rhodes could come to any sort of bossy conclusion, there was a low, loud, percussive gong, and the door to the painted room flew open, the house itself seeming to beckon them down the hall.

“Guess we’ll have to formulate later,” said Callum, rising to his feet and striding forward before waiting to hear what the end of Libby’s sentence would have been.

Behind him, Tristan and Parisa exchanged a glance and followed; Nico rose to his feet, beckoning Libby with a grimace. She, however, hesitated in frustration, then turned her attention to Reina instead.

“So, listen,” Libby began, shifting uncomfortably from foot to foot. “I know I must have sounded rude before, what with that thing I said about you being a naturalist, but I was only—”

“We don’t have to be friends,” Reina said bluntly, cutting her off. Obviously Libby was about to extend some sort of olive branch, but Reina had enough actual branches to contend with without dragging any metaphorical ones into the picture. She certainly had no interest in making friends; all she wanted from this experience was to gain as much access to the Society’s archives as she could.

Though she didn’t want to close any doors, either.

“We just have to be better than them,” Reina pointed out gruffly, gesturing with her chin to the other three, and that, at least, Libby seemed to grasp.

“Understood,” she said, and then, gratifyingly, she followed Nico out the door without waiting, leaving Reina to trail behind alone while the painted room’s plants mourned her loss.