The Gender End (The Gender Game #7)

“Amber, I’m sorry. I just… After we talked last night… How we finished things… And then you were leaving… And it’s not that I don’t think you can handle it! I do! I just wanted to be here with…” Logan trailed off as she quickly began shutting down the engine, her fingers flying, pointedly ignoring him. As soon as she was done, she stood up and turned to face him.

She was nervous; I could see it in the way she held herself. “Well, it’s too late to do anything about it now. Ms. Dale? What should we do with him?”

Ms. Dale looked at both of them, and then over to Viggo, who was finally putting away his gun. He met her gaze, and then shrugged indifferently. “You’re correct, he is here now.” She paused, contemplating him.

“I go where Amber goes,” he announced, raking a hand through his thick crop of black hair.

“Clearly.” Ms. Dale’s voice held the quality of brittle paper. “I don’t think we could stop him if we tried.”

“Could always tie him up,” Morgan said softly, and I looked over to see her standing up. If she was shaken, she didn’t show it. “But I think that would get him killed.”

“You have enough room in the vehicles,” he insisted. “And I’m good in a fight. Amber can attest to that.”

“I can attest to that,” Ms. Dale replied dryly. “Or did you forget you and I were fighting side by side at the water plant? I’ll make this short. You can come with us—but you follow every order, every command, like it’s life or death. And since I know better than to try to separate you from Amber, I will put you with her.”

Amber’s eyebrows drew together, as though she were on the verge of protest, but she held it back, giving him another long, hard look. “Am I his superior?” she asked.

Ms. Dale gave the young woman a feline smile. “Of course you are. And if he acts out, I give you permission to shoot him.”

Amber continued to stare at the man, her uncertain look quickly turning into an extremely satisfied grin. Logan didn’t seem particularly intimidated—he was smiling as well. Then again, I guessed he had just gotten what he wanted: more time with Amber.

That was actually pretty sweet, and I could tell he still affected Amber in some way. Otherwise she wouldn’t be acting like this. I just hoped he was patient enough to let her sort through whatever she was feeling and work out what she actually wanted. I of all people knew that forcing a confrontation with Amber would just make her more stubborn.

Ms. Dale seemed to think the situation was handled, because she began handing out orders. “Okay. Men, get the vehicles out and start getting ready. Thomas, explain to Logan what the plan is. Women—and Viggo—let’s make sure to touch up those disguises, starting with Amber. Remember, this next part needs to be flawless.”

“Roger that,” Solomon said, his voice low. He stood up and followed Owen, Thomas, Logan, and Tim to the cargo bay, but was stopped when Logan turned around abruptly.

“Amber?” he asked softly, and she looked up, her face an impassive mask.

“Yes?”

“I’m proud to have you as my superior.” With that he turned away, and I was blown away by that shocking display of humility. I found myself thinking he must have much deeper feelings for her than I’d thought, to humble himself like that.

Solomon looked around, moving toward the back along with the young man, and cleared his throat. “I’d be proud to punch you, if Amber asks,” he said to Logan in a voice loud enough that the entire group could hear, clapping a large hand onto Logan’s shoulder. “But in the meantime, let’s go. Time’s a precious thing.”

I watched as Logan was pushed out by Solomon. The door closed, and I exhaled. I still hadn’t even moved since we’d landed, and Logan’s appearance had been so surreal, I didn’t even have the ability to really register it. I was still shaking from the fall, and now… now was the last moment to stop and breathe before we really started the mission.

And this time, there was no room for mistakes or deviations from the plan.





24





Violet





The sun had set long ago, and had taken its warmth with it, and yet the sky stubbornly refused to change. The west still held the deep, dark purple of twilight, while behind us the inky black sky shone brightly with stars. Since Maxen’s announcement this morning had sped up our timeline, we’d only had the rest of the afternoon to prepare for the mission, and spent the day nailing down the plan and preparing everything we’d need. Now it was night, the time for secret missions, and I could already see the North Star shining above the horizon through the window of the car. We bounced and jostled across the uneven terrain, the headlamps finding no hazards or obstacles blocking our way.

The two vehicles we’d taken with us in the cargo bay of our ship were loaded with all the supplies we’d need. Ms. Dale drove, while Viggo, Thomas, and Owen were squeezed into the backseat of the loaded vehicle, shiny handcuffs around their wrists. Thomas and Owen were disguised too, though not as well as Viggo or the rest of us had to be. They weren’t nearly as well-known within the two countries.

I stole a quick glance at Viggo as he looked out the window, his eyes serious behind the spectacles. I appreciated the sight, but I couldn’t attribute the hitch in my breath solely to Viggo as we drove across the dark gray and black plains that made up the far eastern borders of Matrus—the direction we had been heading when Solomon had destroyed the controls on Desmond’s heloship.

That was an important detail in our story, and I sucked in another slow breath, reminding myself of what I needed to say and how I needed to act.

“Be confident,” Ms. Dale said softly as she angled the car toward a fire burning some three or four hundred feet away, right behind a massive metal square that hunkered over the rocky soil. It was the enemy camp, a Matrian outpost manning the anti-heloship guns we’d had to perform the drop to avoid, and from this distance I could make out five or six figures at the post; there were likely more in the green tents pitched a bit farther behind the fire pit. “Remember, you didn’t do anything wrong. We’re going to get through this.”

“I know we will,” I said, tugging down the olive-green uniform of a Matrian warden. “Not our first rodeo.”

“They’re going to ask about the uniform—”

“I know what to say.” I stroked my fingers over the butt of my gun as Ashabee’s anti-ship missile launcher grew larger. It was much smaller than I had expected it to be. The whole thing sat on four tires that were braced by rocks to prevent it from rolling anywhere. I stared at it, resenting how such a small thing had forced us to perform such a risky move in the heloship, letting the petty anger distract me for a moment from what was ahead.

But only for a moment. Ms. Dale downshifted and began to slow as we neared the encampment. A paved road ended a few feet away, and as if by magic, I could see, down the hill, trees and the tops of houses just beyond the gravel mounds that framed the road.