The Atlas Six (The Atlas 1)

“Oh.” He cleared his throat. “Well, it seems a bit more of a… later topic, doesn’t it?”

“What, chemistry?”

“We’re still on psychokinesis.”

“Well, that’s not unrelated to thought in general,” she said. “I actually thought of it when we were discussing the mechanics of the future. By the way, have you thought any further about time?”

She had such a ceaseless way of making him wonder what on earth she was talking about.

“About… time?”

“About whether you can use it.” She, unlike him, seemed blissfully unaware that this was the first time they were speaking to each other privately since he had woken up in her bed. “Precognition is proof the future can be accessed through thought, so why not physically as well? Not to mention that time is a dimension none of the rest of us can even imagine the shape of, much less see.” She fixed him with a direct, unnerving glance. “Unlike you.”

“What, you think I can—?” His misdiagnosed illusionist training was failing him. Magically speaking, he hadn’t the faintest idea what sort of language could be used to describe what she was suggesting. “Traverse time?”

“I have absolutely no idea, Tristan,” she said. “That’s why I’m asking you. It just seems as if you probably have some way to use it, don’t you?”

“Use what?”

“Your specialty.”

“What about it?”

“Well, it’s yours, isn’t it? So presumably you’re the one who should be using it, not me.”

Foggily, he produced an argument, plucking it from somewhere. “Plenty of magical specialties are designed to be used together. Most naturalists work with—”

“I’m not saying that.” Libby tilted her head, brushing her fringe to one side. She had grown it out; now it was nearly long enough to tuck behind her ear, a fact of which Tristan was troublingly assured. “There’s nothing wrong with it not being yours to use. I simply suspect otherwise.”

“Why?”

“Why what?”

“Why suspect otherwise?”

“Truthfully, it’s really more of a guess than a suspicion. What does Parisa think?”

“I—” He stopped, taken by surprise yet again. “What?”

“Actually, speaking of Parisa.” Another abrupt change, just as Tristan thought he’d managed a grasp on the conversation. “Do you suppose she’s changed her mind?”

Rather than continue asking the same question, Tristan folded his arms over his chest, waiting.

“About the whole… elimination thing,” Libby clarified, intuiting correctly that he hadn’t the faintest idea where she was going with any of this. “Seems like she might have changed her mind after the whole Callum thing. You know, the trolley problem?”

“Oh.” Right. The small issue of Parisa’s death by Callum. “Yes.” Tristan fought a sudden chill. “In fairness, I think she always knew that about him.”

“Well.” Libby cleared her throat. “I suppose there might be some merit to the whole thing.”

Tristan arched a brow. “Some merit to… killing Callum?”

“You saw him, Tristan.” Libby’s mouth was a new, grim form of determination he’d never seen from her before. “He didn’t know it wasn’t real, did he? He had no idea he was in some sort of… augmented reality in Varona’s head,” she said with a frown, “so Callum’s reality is that he could be rid of Parisa at any time, and easily. So maybe that’s something to consider in the experiment.”

“That some people should die?”

“That some specialties shouldn’t exist,” she said conclusively.

That, Tristan thought, was certainly a jarring realization to come to.