Almost too soon, the gap was there before me, and I planted a foot on the ledge, leaning forward to keep my balance. I got my other foot under me, and then turned to grab Owen, hauling him roughly onto the ledge with me. He unhooked my rope for me, and I helped him with his.
Owen relayed our success to Amber, and I turned, shining my light around. We were standing in the lightly humid air in the mouth of a cave. Not just any cave, but a wide one—my flashlight had a range of maybe thirty feet in the dark, and I couldn’t detect any of the sides from where I stood.
Curious, I moved forward, keeping my flashlight pointed ahead. The rock was damp, but porous enough that it wasn’t slippery. I moved forward maybe fifty feet, and then stopped when my light hit a wall. I swung it right, then left, pausing when the light cut across a massive airlock door.
My eyes widened, and I took a step forward, taking it in. It was similar in design to the one from the facility where the boys were kept. Still, the fact it had somehow been set up here was beyond odd. It was almost unbelievable. Suddenly, a lot of the hero worship the Liberators felt for Desmond started making sense. I could imagine how they must have felt—scared, alone, uncertain—only to be confronted with this mad feat of engineering and technology. How grand Desmond must have seemed. How connected she must have been to make this happen, miles and miles from anything resembling civilization.
But Desmond had an alliance with the Matrian elite. Maybe this base wasn’t just made of sheer moving power on Desmond’s part. How much help had she gotten from her benefactors? Did they know it was here? Could they guess we would come?
A glitter above the door caught my attention. I pointed the flashlight upward and encountered the metallic, predatory glare of a security camera. I’d known we would be watched, but it still unsettled me to see it. Unease prickling my back, I swept the beam of light elsewhere, trying to find more cameras, to see if there could be a blind spot… My light hit the edge of another one aimed near the door, cut down at a sharp angle, and I took a step back, just in case. I found another two cameras pointing right, their angles revealing a hard-to-spot path leading off onto a large piece of rock that seemed to stretch out slightly beyond the cliff, slanting into open space. I assumed it took a turn at some point, to make it navigable going down—this must have been the way people usually climbed up to the base.
Guys, I began, we’ve got cameras. How long do you think—
An excited shriek interrupted my report, and I turned back toward the ledge at the cave mouth. I could see the light from Owen’s flashlight pointed out from the ledge, and caught the fine movements of the rope. Amber whooped again in excitement, the subvocalizers perfectly recreating her exuberance right in my ears as she rappelled down the cliff above us.
Really? I growled through the device, and her voice turned bashful—but not quite repentant.
Oops! Sorry!
I could see Owen smiling through his mask, and I moved over to him, ready to help him pull her onto the ledge. But it was apparent neither of our efforts were needed as Amber kicked off the rock a final time, swinging out and away in a graceful arc before doing something with the rope that arrested her fall. She glided into the mouth of the cave, landing five feet from the edge, both her feet planted firmly.
All right, I’m jealous, I said as I helped Owen slip the rope from her, and she grinned wildly through the mask. Owen grabbed the lines and held them out over the cliff face; Amber keyed something into a little blinking control pad that tucked neatly into a pocket of her jacket, and the lines jerked and began slowly winding back upward.
The cave remained silent but for the scuffling sounds made by the three of us, the regard of the cameras weighing heavily on me. It was almost worse knowing the Liberators had probably seen us—and still hadn’t done anything. What could they be planning?
No welcoming committee? I commented, trying to keep my tone light, as we moved toward the airlock.
Owen and Amber looked at each other and shook their heads. I’m sure they’ve seen us by now, Owen said, but we’re not trying for stealth. We’ve gotta show them we have nothing to hide.
Admirable, I said, swallowing. As long as they don’t choose to shoot first and ask questions later.
We were at the airlock. This would be the moment of truth—from here on out, we were going to be completely surrendering ourselves into the hands of the still-hostile Liberators. In the airlock, they had full control over whether we lived or died. It was either a brilliant persuasive move, or suicide. I took a deep breath, ready to find out which, just to get it over with.
I pressed down the handle and pulled the massive door open wide enough for all of us to step into. Owen helped me pull it closed, while Amber moved over to the opposite side, heading for the glowing red button that would activate the chamber’s detoxifying technology. She waited while we closed the door—when I heard it catch with a slight sucking sound, I gave her a thumbs-up. She hit the button.
Red lights started flashing on the doors, and I felt the pressure in the room change as the toxic air was filtered out. I looked at a glowing green sign on the wall with a digital countdown on it, watching the time running down. The numbers dropped from forty-five to thirty. They were quickly approaching fifteen when a loud klaxon alarm sounded, and the numbers froze.
I looked sharply at Amber and Owen, who returned equally sharp looks from under their masks. Go time.
Subvocalizers off, Amber transmitted to us, her voice lacking its usual sauciness. We’ll be needing our voices to negotiate. Owen and I clicked off the devices just as the alarm abruptly cut off.
A sharp rapping sound came through from the inner airlock door, and I turned toward it, peering at the small round pane of glass in the door. There was a puff of static, followed by a sharp whine, as audio piped through from a hidden communication device.
“Put down your weapons,” a female voice demanded. “Or we’ll let you rot in there.”
10
Viggo
My hand was already reaching for my gun when a face appeared behind the thick glass of the window—a woman with dark skin and deep brown eyes who looked vaguely familiar. I exhaled and stopped myself just short of pulling the gun. It wasn’t Desmond. Still, I couldn’t recall who the woman was.
I turned to Owen for information, and his voice was low enough to reach only my ears: “Meera.” My brows drew down in confusion; there was an odd disconnect between my associations with the name and what confronted me now. When I had met Meera, she had been the cook at the facility. I hadn’t really gotten to know her—in fact, I had only met her once. The rest of the time I had been either in the hospital area, training the boys, or holed up in my room, most of my meals brought to me by Violet while I worked on their lessons.
I turned back to the door, curious as to why she was the one who had answered, and saw that Meera was glaring at Amber, her eyes full of malice.
“You have a lot of nerve showing up here,” her voice spat through the speakers, and I blinked at its vehemence.
Amber pressed her face close to the window. “Meera, please. You know us! You know we aren’t traitors. Desmond is lying to you!”
“You’re the liar,” Meera retorted, her face becoming more livid, even through the wavy glass. “You betrayed us!”
“Never,” Amber said more softly, her hand coming up to the window. “I would never betray you, Meera. You’re my friend. I care about you. I’ve… I’ve missed you. It’s why we’re here—we have proof that Desmond has been lying to you. If you just give us a chance…”
Meera’s drawn face did not lose any of its suspicion. But even in her voice, I could sense more than anger—a deep weariness, undercut by pain. “To what? Come in here and kill us all? Try to find Desmond so you can kill her? Go back, Amber, or I will shoot you. I will shoot all of you.”
I turned to Owen, keeping my voice low so the woman behind the glass wouldn’t hear. “What else do we know about Meera? What else can we use to get her to give us a
chance?”
Owen’s eyes moved back and forth. Then he gave me a strangely reticent look, and said, “Solomon is her son.”
That was all I needed.
Like a gunshot, I was off, striding for the door. I gently pushed Amber out of the way and pressed my face to the window. “We have your son,” I told her.
Meera’s eyes grew wide, then narrowed. “You’re lying,” she hissed.
“No, I’m not. He was being kept with Thomas in Patrus, right? Let me ask you… did Desmond tell you Thomas defected?”
The woman opened her mouth and then hesitated, and I smiled. “It’s not a hard question. I figure she had to, in order to justify changes in your security for your handhelds, right? What did she tell you, Meera, about Solomon?”
Meera’s lips quivered slightly, and then she pressed them together in a thin line. It was enough to make me guess Desmond had told her that he was dead—no doubt that Thomas had killed Solomon as he was escaping, or something of the sort.
“He’s alive,” I told her. “Violet begged Thomas to get him out. She didn’t forget your son and the sacrifice he made for her. He’s still in the same condition, but he’s alive, and as healthy as can be expected.”
Meera took several deep breaths and then looked over my shoulder at Owen, apprehension battling the suspicion on her face. “Is it true?” she asked, her voice thick.
Owen gave her a gentle nod. Meera stepped away from the glass and disappeared from view. My heart pounded in my chest, and I wondered if I hadn’t just made a mistake mentioning Solomon. What if Meera was like Desmond—willing to sacrifice her son for what she considered the greater good?
A few moments later, Meera was back. The area under her eyes was puffy and the sclera around her irises were bloodshot. I realized she had stepped away to cry. Thank God, Meera wasn’t like Desmond. She was a mother who genuinely worried about her son. Finding out he was alive after being told he had died… I couldn’t imagine what she was going through at this moment.
Still, she bore it well. Her face had returned to a hard mask, but the viciousness had softened considerably. “What do you want?” she asked.
“Before I can tell you, answer this question for me. Is Desmond at this base right now?”
Meera hesitated, then shook her head. She looked guilty, but seemed to push it aside.
“Good,” I told her. “You asked what we wanted, and all we’re asking for is this: twenty minutes alone with you and your leadership, with a promise that you’ll watch this video first.” I held the case with the chip up to the window for her to see.
“What kind of video?” she asked, revealing nothing.
I paused, not entirely sure how to answer her question. I turned to Owen for help, and he took a step forward, one hand up. “It’s better if you watch it first, and then ask questions,” he told her. “Just… please, trust me. The last thing I want to do is hurt you, or anyone inside. We all feel that way.”
Meera licked her lips and then nodded. “Fine. Here are the terms: unload your weapons and put them on the ground. You’ll watch the video with us, and we will have guns trained on you the entire time. If we’re not satisfied…”
“We’ll cross that bridge when we come to it,” I cut in. I pulled out my gun, taking a few steps away from the door, then ejecting the clip and clearing the chamber. I set the gun and clip on the floor. I could hear Amber and Owen doing the same, but I didn’t take my eyes off Meera. I also didn’t relinquish the knife tucked into my boot. She didn’t need to know about that.
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.
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.
The Gender Game 5: The Gender Fall Page 7