The Gender Fall (The Gender Game #5)

A few minutes later, we were inside the brightly lit, timeless rock-cut halls of the Liberator base. After the dimness outside, it felt like the time had changed abruptly, as though here it was always midday operational.

We were led to a room with a long table, filled with Liberators—almost all of them women. Several of them patted us down and quickly confiscated my knife, much to my chagrin, but Meera was willing to overlook my interpretation of her terms. Looking at her hard face, I suspected she knew she would have attempted the same in my position. I looked around the room, studying the people there. I knew some faces, but most I didn’t recognize. They stared expectantly at a wall of massive screens stacked on top of each other. The air in the room was decidedly hostile. Amber, Owen, and I each had not one, but two guards pointing the promised guns at our backs. I kept my head up and stared straight ahead, not meeting any of their gazes, but feeling the sights trained on my vitals almost physically.

It was clear something had shifted in their power structure. Meera was clearly in charge, but the reason for the change was not yet apparent to me. Maybe it had something to do with the sudden move from the Facility Amber had mentioned—if they’d truly had to evacuate, that could’ve shaken the command chain up significantly—and I guessed it was also making them even more suspicious than usual. With the mention of Solomon, I’d found a crack in their defenses, but that had been lucky. It had bought us a temporary respite from uncompromising hostility, but there was no guarantee that would continue once they watched the video. I hoped Amber and Owen weren’t putting all their faith in it. I hoped they, like me, were looping scenarios through their heads, planning what to do if this business went south.

Meera moved to the screens and briskly popped the video chip into the reader. A loading screen showed on the wall of monitors, and then the video started playing.

It was my second time watching the video, and that didn’t make it any better. In fact, it was somehow worse now because I knew what was coming. I felt my hands clench into fists as Violet stepped from the garden and onto the stone platform with a fountain. Her voice carried through, loud and strong. Tabitha’s voice was not as strong, due to the distance, but you could still make out her response.

I watched them exchange words, and nodded to myself, once again admiring Violet’s bravery in manipulating the situation to get the women and children of her family out of there. But as the seconds ticked by, my unease returned. When the first explosion caused the view of the camera to shudder and shake, I felt my gut tense, knowing the camera had been on Violet’s person at the time, that it was her bearing the brunt of being thrown to the ground.

The video continued, tracking Violet’s path as she fought with Tabitha before the second explosion went off. When Tabitha started talking about cracking the code for enhancing humans, I noticed several of the Liberators lean forward, probably becoming aware of the implications in that statement—namely, that Elena and Tabitha had access to Mr. Jenks’ complete research, something even Queen Rina hadn’t been given full access to.

But the real kicker came later, on the staircase, when Violet mentioned the boys. There was no mistaking the deadly intent behind Tabitha’s reply, and the room echoed with several audible gasps. I saw people raising their hands up to their mouths, as if covering up their shock would make the betrayal sting less.

We were getting close to the end of the video, and suddenly, the room felt incredibly small. I wasn’t sure I had the strength to watch it again. In fact, I knew I didn’t—I couldn’t watch as Tabitha smashed Violet’s face in, or as she propped her into a standing position so she could give her a so-called “honorable death”. Or listen as Violet laughed manically as she clicked the button, detonating the bomb on the fake egg. I looked from side to side; the two young women guarding me both stared, riveted, at the images on the screen. I nodded mildly at each of them and slipped toward the door.

I didn’t look back to see whether my guards were following me; the fact that there were no gunshots was enough. In the hall, I let out a shuddering breath, and then sucked air into my lungs. I moved over to the wall and pressed my hot forehead against the cool stone, trying to calm my boiling blood. Rage flowed thick and hot through my veins, but without a target, it was just burning me up.

I felt my hand curl into a fist again and closed my eyes, trying to resist the urge to use it on the wall. I knew it wouldn’t help. And with so many of us injured, it was not a good time to risk breaking my knuckles just because watching Violet being hurt like that made me want to kill something.

I fought for calm, trying to slow my breathing and practicing mental exercises to distract me from the feeling. I was halfway through one involving the alphabet when I felt a hand on my shoulder. I jerked away abruptly, and saw Owen—and then became aware of the four women who stood in the corridor with us. Obviously both my guards and Owen’s had followed us. They were watching our every move. But maybe that was a good thing. Maybe it would make them see us for the tired, scared human beings we were.

“What’s up?” I asked Owen.

“Video’s done,” he reported. “Amber is giving her report about Tabitha and… and Quinn. She, uh… she took some pictures so they could see.” His face looked younger than usual as his horror at his friend’s treatment shone through. I wondered again if our guards thought us cowards—or friends.

I shuddered, thinking of the endless number of stitches Quinn had received in the past twenty-four hours. Tabitha had torn the poor young man apart in front of Amber’s eyes. Amber had a lot of grit taking those pictures as evidence, but I was glad she had. Pictures spoke louder than words, and the story these told was just another reason for the Liberators to accept our testimony as fact.