Free LEGACY RISING by Rachel Eastwood Page A

friendly audience with the duke, but what is more likely in our future with that route is jail .” Trimpot seemed to not know the next course of action himself. He paused to consider. “ So if you cannot hope for an understanding to be reached between the common and ruling class,” he continued thoughtfully, “I suppose a revolution is imminent. And then . . . we demand sovereignty. We restructure the laws. We begin again.”
                  Legacy didn’t say it, but this sounded as painfully idealistic as the duke had accused her of being. They were all going to get themselves killed, or worse, lots of other, innocent people in the process.
                  “What laws, exactly?” Dax asked.
                  Legacy looked to him, then back at Trimpot.
                  “I could get to be an actual engineer and inventor,” Vector muttered from where he stooped, several yards away now. “Instead of a fucking airship mechanic.”
                  “Exactly,” Trimpot chirped, snapping his fingers. “There’s also a black market of sorts? I’m sure you’ve never heard of it, but that frock coat came off of it. There are certain goods which are unavailable to the likes of you, or me.” Then how did you get that frock coat? If it’s not available to the likes of you? Legacy wondered. “These luxury items should be available to the whole of the population. For a price , of course, but they shouldn’t be hoarded, like secrets. Oh!” Trimpot added. “And your thing, too! What was it? The CCSS. We’ll abolish the hell out of all that.”
                  Yeah, you sound very genuine . . . like the duke, but less eloquent. What do you want from us? Legacy thought with a scowl.
    “Why are you showing us all this?” she blurted. “It’s dangerous, you know, for you to just bring people here. It’s dangerous for us both that I’ve seen that!” she cried, gesturing at the glass cannon behind her. Vector looked up at her with a matching scowl. “Why are you telling us all this? Your names? Your plans?”
                  “ Funny you should mention.” Trimpot tilted his head, examining Legacy more closely. “It sparked my interest when you told me that you’d started a little riot in the concert hall. Not just anyone can start a riot . That takes passion. More than passion. That takes eloquence. ” He had a suspicious glint in his eye, as if he might just eat her.
    “What are you talking about?” she asked.
    “I’m talking about your gift with words,” he replied. “And I bet you Enhancement for Employment Opportunities didn’t even station you in anything of the sort.”
    “I’m a metalsmith.” You already knew that.
    “Well, there you go,” Trimpot simpered. “This is exactly the kind of thing we’re talking about. Chance for Choice could give you a job with words .”
    Legacy had never really thought about it before . . . but she did suppose she liked words. She just had a natural affinity with metalwork, and no one had ever asked what else she might want to do. If anything, she’d been grateful for the placement score, considering the alternative, though it was just another difference engine tallying a human being.
    “What words, exactly?” Legacy asked. “How?”
    “My words,” Trimpot replied. “My speeches.”
    “So, you want to start little riots,” Dax said. His gaze was weighing on the other man quite heavily.
    “Why, yes, I do,” Trimpot replied. “I really do. I’m getting tired , Dax. I’m getting tired of this notion of civil disobedience . I’m ready to apply a little pressure.”
    Dax’s eyebrows settled lower, and for a minute, Legacy thought Trimpot was about to get told off. Those were Dax’s angry eyes. But then he said, “Hell yeah. I’m in.”
    The two shared a perfunctory handshake, and Trimpot glanced at Legacy next. “And you?”
    “I—I’ll think about it,” she