The Gender Fall (The Gender Game #5)

Just then, Amber stuck her head out the door and gave us a look. Her face was uncharacteristically grim, but she didn’t look defeated, just emotionally drained.

“They’re ready for you,” she told me.

I took another deep breath and steeled myself. As I entered the room, my guards following silently at my heels, I expected to still feel the burgeoning hostility that had characterized the room earlier. I expected there would be a lot of pushback.

I didn’t expect the mingled expressions of curiosity, grudging respect, and vulnerability on the faces of the people in the room. Whispers shuttled around between them, dozens of low-volume conferences with heads together and eyes darting to us, to the screen, and back again. The Liberators in the room had the grim look of people who had just realized the string of tragic events that had been occurring the past week was indirectly their fault, and that some of them had even been duped into aiding the Matrian takeover. I could also see a growing anger in them, one I guessed would smolder for a while before erupting in a white-hot rage.

I didn’t know how this was going to go down. This was far scarier than some more dangerous missions I’d been on, but as I stood at the end of the table, I allowed myself a brief moment of hope. With a group of people like this, looking at me with those naked emotions, I could accomplish something. In fact, they looked like they were actually ready to hear me.

I let out a breath and started to talk.

“Look, I understand this is all coming as a shock to you. I’m certain, like Amber and Owen, you were all recruited personally by Desmond. She’s been a source of hope, and empowerment, to you all. I’m guessing you don’t know what to make of this, or what you can even do about it. But here’s the thing… Just because Desmond has been lying to you, it doesn’t change the fact that there are some pretty major fundamental flaws in our nations. Both of them. Our governments have either been indifferent, or robbed us all of something precious. They have used their agents to filter out any of you who would protest, and then used you to work to their own goals.”

Several people nodded as I spoke, and I heard the murmured conversations growing more animated.

“You can’t change what has happened to you,” I went on, “but you can choose how to handle it now. We”—I used my hand to indicate Owen, Amber, and myself—“have chosen to fight. Not for ourselves, and not for our survival, but rather for the people who are caught in the middle. People like your families, your sons, your brothers.

“But I have to tell you, the odds are against us. They have been from the start. Elena and Desmond have spent years putting this in motion, consolidating resources and personnel. But you and the rest of the Liberators have things we need. You have people who have been training to fight for years, but most of all, the spirit to make a difference. We need that—our soldiers are refugees who have barely held a gun, let alone thought of using one, before now. But they share the same feelings you have. They’re also fed up with our governments. They also have taken it upon themselves to make a change in the world around them. You and they have a lot in common. There’s a lot you could teach them, if you wanted.”

Silence reigned for several heartbeats, and I looked around the table at each person here, trying to gain some evidence, some inkling of proof that I was getting through to them.

A woman with a short brown pixie cut leaned forward, resting her hands on the table, her green eyes studying me. “That’s a very pretty speech, Mr. Croft, but frankly, why should we even bother to get involved? It seems more like a death wish than anything else.”

“Erin!” Meera gasped, her brows drawing together. “How can you say that? Your son is out there.”

Erin speared Meera with a reproachful look, shaking her head. “I will never give up on my son,” she said. “Malcolm is my world. But if you think for one minute that means I’ll blindly agree to consign the rest of our people to a war against Desmond, you are mistaken.”

“Erin has a point,” announced Lynne, one of the few Liberators I knew by name, from across the table. I glanced at her, and she gave me an apologetic shrug. I guessed her flirting days were done, though I didn’t consider that a loss when she’d never stood a chance against Violet. I wondered if she’d gotten in trouble for the stunt we’d pulled borrowing the harness to spy on Desmond in the Facility, but pushed the thought aside.

“We would be going up against trained wardens, controlled by Desmond,” Lynne continued. “She knows where our base is, and she’ll notice if something is up.”

“Exactly. Our position here, in The Green, was given to us by her. We would have to move everything to enter a battlefield that, frankly, we have little reason to be involved with in the first place.” Erin shook her head, her lips a thin, flat line. “No, I’m sorry, but we need a better reason than that.”

“So you’re saying you’d rather stick with Desmond?” I asked, my heart sinking.

The look Erin gave me was shrewd. “Not even remotely. But going to war isn’t a solution to our problem. Finding our boys is.”