The Gender End (The Gender Game #7)

I stared, stomach churning, at the dial on my wrist. A tremble rolled through me. Being a four had been bad enough as a Squire. But no matter what department you were from, once you hit three, Medica treatment was no longer just recommended; it was required. If you were a two you were placed in confinement on your floor and sent to mental restructuring, a rigorous process of intensive drug cocktails and heavy indoctrination designed to raise a person’s number by completely rewriting their personality. If I dropped to a two, I would be automatically expelled from the Knights. Ones disappeared into the dungeons of the Citadel—I wasn’t even sure what happened to them.

“A three?”

I looked up, my whole body numb. Dalton was gazing down his long nose at me like some kind of pompous vulture, thin tongue darting out to wet his lips. I tried to press down a surge of disgust at his presence. Such thoughts were not helpful right now. I could practically feel Scipio leafing through my emotions via the net in my head.

“Liana…” Gerome began, but I turned away.

“It’s fine,” I said, not sure where the lie came from. “I—I’ll get it sorted out.”

“The Medica will sort you out, you mean,” drawled Dalton. “At least I won’t have to deal with you again.”

I glanced back as Gerome turned on the engineer, his eyes flat as stone. “She saved your life, Cog.”

Dalton stood up a little straighter. “I still had my lashes. I was perfectly capable of—”

“I have been training with lashes my entire life,” Gerome said matter-of-factly, “and Liana is already twice as talented as me. I respect your loyalty to the Tower. I respect your commitment to its values. What I cannot respect is your flippancy toward its Knights. Unless you’re trying to mar your record and bring your number down, I suggest a change of temperament.”

Dalton had gone pale, and now he nodded shakily.

I glanced at Gerome. The speech had been defensive, but it wasn’t meant as complimentary. How very Gerome: the facts, flat and simple, with no emotions or loyalties beyond himself and the Tower to get in the way. I appreciated the support, but sometimes I wished the man would show me something that resembled actual kindness—not the damnable cool statement of facts.

“Liana,” he said, and this time it was not a tone that allowed me to ignore him.

“Yes, sir,” I said, shoulders slumping.

“You will be required to visit the Medica tomorrow,” he said. “They will give you what you need in order to be a productive member of this Tower.”

My gut clenched. “Yes, sir.”

“For now,” he said, “I think it would be best if you—”

A low buzzing cut him off, coming from the net in my head. The vibrations seemed to flow together, until my eardrums rattled with sound that wasn’t there. I bit my lip; direct messages had always left me with a vague sense of vertigo.

Squire, a voice said in my head. I recognized Scipio, and shivered. The programmers had chosen a soft, male voice for him, and for some reason whenever he spoke I imagined a young man, blond, sitting upon a throne, sword across his lap. He was regal, condescending, and completely at ease in his power. I wasn’t sure if I hated, loved, or feared him. He merely was what he was.

There is an incident that requires your attention. A ‘one’ has appeared in the Water Treatment facilities. You are to assist in apprehending him. Immediately.

Scipio’s words rang in my ears, and for a moment I stood, frozen in shock. I had expected a reprimand, not a call to duty. I watched as Gerome’s iron fa?ade twisted. He turned away.

“Something has come up,” Gerome said. “I need to—”

“I got it too,” I said hurriedly.

Dalton’s stare darted between the two of us like we were mad.

Gerome stared at me.

“Confirm to me what you heard,” he said.

I looked at Dalton, not particularly wanting to give the man the gossip that he wanted. The communication had been for Knights only. All the same, Gerome wanted an answer.

“A one has appeared in Water Treatment,” I said. “I am to assist.”

Dalton let out a gasp but Gerome just nodded.

“We’re taking the plunge,” he said.

Dalton, predictably, gasped again. I, on the other hand, offered the first genuine smile of the day.



The plunge was a sheer shaft that ran almost the entire length of the Tower, from the ceiling to the lower levels. Unlike the elevators, this tunnel was narrow and didn’t always run in a perfectly straight line. For an experienced Knight, lashing your way down the plunge was simple, but, much like the drop outside, my stomach never failed to lurch when I leapt out into the empty air. The narrowness and random changes in the tunnel meant there was little room for error. It was one of the faster ways of getting to a lower floor, but at least one Knight a year died due to a mistake that sent them slamming off wall after wall in free fall, often getting no time to place new lashes before they hit the bottom of the passage. Seeing the deadly shaft of pipes and exposed beams, and leaping into it was as thrilling and terrifying now as it had been the first time I’d done it.

I’d be lying if I said I didn’t love it.

Gerome leapt into the narrow shaft first, and I managed to last three whole seconds before I followed, a mad grin on my face. I placed my foot into nothingness and then allowed gravity to take me, throwing my lashes at the last possible second to arrest my descent down.

Gerome stared straight forward, his short hair barely moving as we hurtled toward the ground. His approach was methodical: a flick of the wrist here or there to keep himself perfectly centered as he shot downward. By contrast, I was a meteor. I spun and whirled, dancing about him as I let my feet clip the walls, grinning in spite of my mentor’s disapproving glances. My teachers had always been very firm on the fact that the plunge was for emergency transportation only, but they had been forced to remind me several times over the years. Something this wonderful couldn’t just be for when things were bad.

“When we arrive,” Gerome shouted, his voice barely carrying over the wind roaring in my ears, “you are to stay with me. We’ll search the perimeter indicated by Scipio while others search the interior.”

I shot out a cable and yanked myself away from where a beam cut across the path, slipping my slim form through the narrow gap between the beam and the wall, leaving the wider space for Gerome’s muscular form. Once I was past it, I took the time to answer. “Wouldn’t it be more efficient if we split up?” I yelled back.

“We’re not splitting up.”

I winced, and for a moment I was all too aware of the low number on my wrist. Of course Gerome wouldn’t want me to go off on my own now.