The Atlas Six

“You know why you don’t understand me?” Parisa answered Reina’s thoughts, stepping closer to lower her voice. “Because you think you’ve figured me out. You think you’ve met me before, other versions of women like me, but you have no idea what I am. You think my looks are what make me? My ambitions? You can’t begin to know the sum of my parts, and you can stare all you like, but you won’t see a damn thing until I show you.”

Nico was enormously likable, unfairly so, and no matter how clever or talented Libby was, students and faculty alike preferred Nico to her. Whatever gift it was he had, it was like Midas; the effortless turning of nonsense to gold, more a reflex than a skill, and Libby, a gifted academic, had never been able to learn it. Nico’s brand of easy charm had no metric for study, no identifiable markers of finesse.

Many people incorrectly assume time to be a steady incline, a measured arc of growth and progress, but when history is written by the victors the narrative can often misrepresent that shape.

“Has anyone woken Tristan?” asked Libby, looking predictably fretful.

“You do it,” said Parisa, disinterestedly.

“No,” Nico said. “Rhodes is coming with me.”

“What?” said Libby, Parisa, and Callum.

“You heard me,” said Nico, gesturing for Libby to follow. “Reina, wake Tristan and tell him to follow. Rhodes, stay close.”

“I just do,” he said, and before Libby could open her mouth again, he hastily interrupted. “I’m just trying to tell you that I’m willing to do whatever it takes to move on.”

“Nico, if you’re trying to intimidate me—”

“I’m not—” He broke off, frustrated. “Rhodes. For fuck’s sake, I’m trying to work with you.”

“Since when?”

For such a smart girl, she could be really stupid.

“Since I noticed the older three are already picking teams,” he hissed, gesturing ahead to where Tristan and Parisa had caught up with Callum.

“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.

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.

“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.

“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.”

“We do not, as a society, believe it is necessary for one man to know everything. We don’t consider it particularly possible, either, and certainly not very safe.”

“Why not?” (Libby again.)

“Because the problem with knowledge, Miss Rhodes, is its inexhaustible craving. The more of it you have, the less you feel you know,” said Atlas. “Thus, men often go mad in search of it.”