The Gender Fall (The Gender Game #5)(21)

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.