The Gender Lie

by Bella Forrest

  The look he gave me was mutinous, but his eyes sparkled. For just a second, everything that had happened to him slipped away, and I could imagine that this was how my brother would have been, if he’d never been taken in the first place.

  “Happy for you… and Viggo,” Tim said excitedly. “Training is good. Skin hurts, but I’m… controlled. Friends. It’s good.”

  “I think so, too.” I rested my head back against the wall, feeling content for a moment, when the problem with Desmond began worming its way back into my mind. What would I do if she decided to never meet with us? I couldn’t force her to sit down, despite my earlier statement to Viggo. And Tim was starting to take root here. It wouldn’t be fair to drag him away from his brothers.

  I sighed, irritated.

  “What’s wrong?” Tim demanded.

  “I’m sorry, Tim. I’m just… I’m having a hard time dealing with some stuff right now.”

  “Like what?”

  “It’s… I don’t really wanna talk about it.”

  “Violet… not following the rules,” Tim said, his eyes drifting toward the floor as he shifted nervously.

  I looked at him, confused. “What rules are you talking about?”

  “Viggo’s rules! Whenever you feel something…”

  “Stop,” I repeated thoughtfully.

  “Then look,” he replied.

  “Then talk about it,” I finished.

  He nodded.

  “When did you get so grown up?” I asked.

  “Dunno… But you should follow the rules.”

  I groaned in a comical fashion and he chuckled. “Fine, smart guy. You win! I’m a bit stressed out because I’ve been trying to have a meeting with Desmond, and she’s been putting me off.”

  Tim gave me a side-long glance, not directly making eye contact.

  “Don’t like Desmond,” he said after a moment.

  I paused, frowning. “What? Why not?”

  He hesitated, screwing his face up as he thought. “Comes here… Talks to us.”

  “About what?”

  His shoulders went up and down. “Matrus. Patrus. Says… they’re bad. They’ll hurt us.”

  “Does … she say why?”

  Tim met my eyes and gave another shrug, but he looked… sad. “Says we’re different. People hate us.”

  My frown intensified. “She shouldn’t be saying that. It’s the governments who have done bad things… not the people.”

  Tim nodded, his brown locks bobbing. “More. Jay hates her.”

  I racked my brain to remember who Jay was. “You’re going to have to help me out, buddy. Jay?”

  “Ber…trand?” he drawled, sounding it out.

  Realization dawned on me.

  “Desmond’s other son?”

  He nodded emphatically. “He’s… scared.”

  “Uh-huh,” I replied, rolling that bit of information over in my mind. I knew of Desmond’s second son but had never been directly introduced to him… But why would her kidnapped son be afraid of her? That… didn’t make any sense. Wasn’t she doing this to help him?

  I rose to my feet. “I’m going to find Viggo. See what he thinks about all this.”

  Tim nodded, holding up his hand with his index finger and thumb connected in a circle. He had just started picking that up from Viggo.

  “Okay. If you see Desmond again… maybe come find me?” I said.

  He repeated the gesture and I chuckled, waving at him. As I walked away from the room, however, I felt a prickling unease settling in under my skin, as if warning me that something dangerous was coming.

  I had no idea what yet, but it was both disconcerting and vaguely familiar.

  31

  Viggo

  I pushed through the door leading to the boys’ area. Shortly after Violet had left to visit her brother, I had gotten a note passed to me by Henrik, who told me it was from Ms. Dale. It only had four words scratched on it: We need to meet. Curious, but not overly alarmed, I had gotten up and dressed, then made my way downstairs.

  Everything was becoming much easier as the days went on. I was walking again, and was even able to jog for a small period of time. I was careful not to push myself too hard too fast, but even as I made my way downstairs, I had noticed the change. It was like I was settling back into my own body again, and needed less breaks and rest stops than before. I had even managed to work up to doing some pushups and sit-ups in the morning—with Dr. Tierney’s permission, of course.

  I made my way along the ramp to Ms. Dale’s cell with a nod to her guard—not Henrik; he was off shift now.

  Ms. Dale watched me as I entered, her eyes wary and her face tight.

  Dusting my hands, I placed my back against the wall and slid down it until I was sitting across from her. She gave me a wry look.

  “You know, I think you might be sending love letters wrong,” I commented. “You were supposed to give it to me to give to Henrik.” I rubbed my hands over my pants with a congenial smile.

  She rolled her eyes at me. “Please, as if I’d be interested in that old coot.”

  “He’s certainly interested in you, considering he went out of his way to play delivery boy on your behalf. Practicing a play from your Patrian seduction book?”

  If looks could murder, I would have been vaporized in an instant, given the way she was eyeballing me. She took a deep breath, relaxing the hard edges of her face, and nodded at me. “How are you recovering?” she asked.

  “Is that why you brought me down here?”

  She gave me a stern glare.

  “Better,” I replied. “I’ve started doing some jogging and I feel stronger.”

  “Good… We need to start moving with alacrity,” she said, her voice grim.

  I arched a brow. “Alacrity? Sure you don’t want to try moving with obfuscation first?”

  Ms. Dale shot me a disdainful smirk and leaned forward, draping her arms over her knees. “Mr. Croft, big fancy words aside, we have a problem.”

  “What’s up?”

  Her eyes glittered dangerously. “Surely you’ve noticed the change in the boys by now, right?”

  I frowned, my mind racing through recent events. My work with the boys had kept me busy—so busy in fact, that more and more Liberators were coming to me to see if I needed help. They seemed like good people, so I had agreed and shown them the ropes.

  As for the boys—they seemed… determined. A lot of the initial excitement was gone, but there was a fire in their eyes when they did the exercises. A hungry desire that manifested itself during class. They were attentive—far more than any child should be—but I had just attributed it to their genetic modifications.

  “The boys have seemed… eager lately.”

  “No, Viggo. They’re thirsty. For blood.”

  I paused, and then broke out in a laugh. Ms. Dale stared at me with a mixture of irritation, impatience and incredulity. “I’m sorry,” I said, once the laughter had subsided, “but that is really melodramatic.”

  Ms. Dale huffed in annoyance. “Did you know Desmond has been meeting with the boys in the training program?”

  The smile dropped from my face as if someone had turned off a switch.

  “What?”

  “I guess they didn’t mention it to you,” she said, a smug smile playing on her lips.

  I had to hand it to her, she was quite good at gloating. Well, that was fair—I had spent the majority of my time with her gloating. However, if she was keeping information from me out of spite, then that was a whole other story.

  “No. They did not. Care to fill me in?”

  “Desmond has been spending time with the boys in the evenings and before breakfast. She knows all their names and has even given some of them gifts. She goes on walks with them, and encourages them to tell her all about what they are learning.”

  “How do you know this?” I asked.

  “I got tipped off the other night… By Henrik of all people.”

  I suppressed
a smile at that bit of information. “Interesting. And you’re sure nothing’s going on between you?”

  “Be serious, Viggo,” she hissed. I watched her reach into her pocket and pull out a folded piece of paper. “She’s giving them this to read,” she said, thrusting out the paper.

  I grabbed the piece of paper from her hand and gingerly unfolded it. It was a pamphlet, written in noticeably basic language. I read the first line, blinked, and re-read it.

  “The Patrus/Matrus Threat?” I said, meeting her gaze.

  “It’s propaganda. Bad propaganda. It paints both nations as bigots.”

  I winced. “Well… it’s not exactly a lie,” I said slowly.

  Ms. Dale’s face darkened. “Viggo, it’s fear-mongering. I thought you were trying to actively avoid that.”

  I nodded, considering the implications of what she was saying. I tried to follow Desmond’s logic, searching for some rational explanation as to why she was doing this. It seemed strange that she wouldn’t run it by me first. After all, she had seemed very positive at the onset, even offering to send more help in her electronic messages.

  I considered that maybe she was wanting to do it to spend time with them and do her part to help out the program. But that didn’t explain why she would keep it secret, or why she would feel the need to make something like the pamphlet to back up her assertions.

  The only thing I could think of was that she was trying to somehow influence their loyalty, but even that was a bit of a stretch. The boys spent almost all of their waking hours with me and Ms. Dale—I doubted their loyalty could be bought for something as simple as candy and a few pamphlets supporting anti-nationalist propaganda.

  Could it?

  No, there was no way it would work. I knew my boys; they couldn’t be influenced so easily. There was something else going on, something we just weren’t seeing.

  “I want to say she’s buying their loyalty,” I announced finally. “But I can’t see how she could be. The boys can’t be bought with treats. We must be missing something.”

  “You’re right—I know we’re missing something; I just wish I knew what. She always was a clever one… always came at a problem sideways.”

  “What do you mean?” I asked.

  “Well, I touched on it before, but Desmond used to inspire fanaticism. She’s good at it. Do you remember… oh… thirty-some odd years ago? It was a bit before your time, but the bombing of the Patrian grain silo?”

  “Yes.” My father had told me about that day when I was younger. Nearly seventy-five men and women had died from the resulting fires—it had burned down nearly a third of the reserve supplies as well as over a dozen homes and warehouses in the district. Putting it out had taken three days. No one ever claimed credit for it, but at the heart of every rumor, the insinuation was that the Porteque gang was responsible.

  “Desmond arranged the whole affair, and she manipulated those men from the Porteque gang from inside their operation. She inserted herself as one of their ‘obedient’ women and married one of the men. Then she whispered to him—who knows what—about how women needed to find their place just like she had. She had those men worshipping her—in their own way—and convinced them that destroying the grain silo was the only way to get the government’s attention. Three men killed themselves bombing that place, and Desmond disappeared into the night, damage done.”

  “So… you think she’s after the boys, trying to win them over to later use them in her war efforts.”

  She shot me a glance of confirmation. “I trust those boys, but Desmond is insidious—always thinking, planning, scheming. She’s been worming her way in since she saw the success of your program… I’m worried about the boys. They’re vulnerable, and Desmond is reminding them of who got them to where they are and who will continue to help them. And… I’m guessing our names are not being mentioned.”

  I rose abruptly to my feet and moved to the door.

  “Where are you going?” Ms. Dale asked.

  “I’m going to go track Desmond down and talk to her,” I announced.

  “Viggo, you can’t! If you tip your hand too soon, then she’ll use whatever she has to bring you down. And Violet.”

  “Then what do you propose I do?” I asked, pausing.

  “Find a way to watch one of her meetings. Maybe get into her office and snoop around. See if you can’t find out what she’s doing with the boys.”

  “And if I find out her intentions aren’t good?”

  A cold hard light glimmered in Ms. Dale’s eyes. “Mr. Croft—Viggo—have you ever assassinated someone before?”

  I shook my head. It was hard for me to think about—killing someone in cold blood. I knew I could kill someone in self-defense. I could also kill someone while protecting another person. But cold blood? It felt… wrong. Cowardly and unfair.

  “I thought as much. It’s not in your nature, Mr. Croft.” She shifted, straightening her legs. “Which is why, if you do find something out, you’ll need to let me out of here. So I can take… precautions.”

  I stared down through the corrugated holes in the floor into the bleak darkness below. “It’s not in my nature to hurt people,” I replied, meeting her gaze head on.

  She shrugged. “I could argue that killing her would be protecting people.”

  “This feels… wrong, Melissa.”

  Her mouth tightened and she gave me a sad look. “You might think so, Mr. Croft,” she whispered. “But go to one of her secret meetings. Find out what she’s telling the boys, and then come back and tell me if you still think it’s wrong.”

  I frowned, but nodded. “I’ll… check it out. But beyond that… I am not committing to anything.”

  32

  Violet

  The next night, Viggo and I were creeping quietly along the catwalks. I had an electronic winch on a wheeled cart next to me, and Viggo was carrying several lengths of rope. It was late, and there weren’t many people around.

  When we had met up late last night, I had explained what Tim had told me and Viggo had told me about his conversation with Ms. Dale. We’d spent hours going over what we should do, and finally had decided that this was the best course of action.

  Earlier in the day, I had met with Tim and asked him to show me where Desmond usually met with the boys. He had led me to the electrical substation and explained, as best he could, that Desmond brought the boys down there to hold discussions and debates in secret.

  This had concerned both Viggo and me enough that we had come up with a drastic plan to try to hear what she was telling the boys. That plan included me getting lowered down dozens of feet to listen in through an audio transmitter that Tim would be carrying in his pocket. I didn’t like the idea of putting Tim at risk, but Viggo had insisted that it was the best way.

  We had already considered just trying to sneak down the stairs, but it was risky—if the boys were indeed becoming loyal to Desmond, they would alert her to our presence.

  I bit my lip as I pulled up the facility blueprints. Desmond had sent them to me to help with the bomb disposal project, and now I couldn’t be more grateful that she had. If I’d needed to ask for them, it would have drawn suspicion over what we were doing.

  As it was, I wasn’t so certain that Lynne, a Liberator who worked in the equipment room, had accepted my flimsy excuse when I checked out the winch and rope—I’d explained that Viggo needed it for training—but there wasn’t much to do about that now. The bug I had stolen outright, convinced it was safer to steal, as checking it out officially would raise red flags. Luckily, I had spent more than a few hours in the supply closet, so I’d known exactly what I was looking for.

  I studied the map, then moved about ten feet to the left of the door. According to Tim, no one would start showing up for the meeting for another ten minutes, which meant that Viggo would lower me down by the winch, secure the rope to the handrails, and then detach the winch, wheeling it over to Tim’s cell.

  I would have twenty minut
es from the start of the meeting to listen in. Unfortunately, the transmitter on the bug wasn’t strong enough for both of us to listen from up on the catwalk, hence the need for me to once again lower myself down into the dark pit that waited eagerly beneath our feet.

  I checked my watch nervously. “You ready?” I asked as Viggo carefully applied the brakes to the wheels.

  Normally, the winch would be flat on the ground and bolted in. We didn’t have time for that, so we were doing this differently. Viggo was going to brace it himself as he lowered me down, and then carefully disconnect the line and tie it off. There would be several seconds where my weight and life would be completely in his hands.

  We had discussed leaving the winch there to hold me up, but I was worried it would be noticed. Viggo had expressed his uncertainty about holding my weight—which had led to a really amusing few minutes of me teasing him for calling me fat. He had already regained so much of his strength that I was confident that he had recovered enough, and I had somehow managed to convince him of that.

  He was in the process of threading the rope through the machine. “Yeah, ready,” he whispered as he ran the line through the carabiners on my harness. “Are you sure you want to do this?” he asked, his green eyes finding mine.

  I swallowed. “Yes. It has to be me. You’re the only one who can support my weight. I can’t support yours.”

  He nodded, but I saw a flash of doubt. I gripped his jaw. “I trust you,” I whispered. “And I love you… You can do this.”

  Viggo leaned down and kissed me hard. Then I turned slowly and looked down at the pit.

  We both can do this.

  Viggo took a deep breath and straightened. “When I transfer the line, it’s going to be jerky. You have to remain calm and not struggle, okay. If you start swinging too much, I won’t be able to tie off the line.”

  I nodded rapidly several times. “I will, I promise.”