The Gender Lie(83)

“My boys, please—be calm!” Desmond shrilled. “Let’s put that training to good use! Drag them all to the airlock, and let’s make a sport of it.”

Desmond’s announcement was met with a chorus of cheers, and I squeezed my eyes shut, unable to accept another failure on my part.





35





Viggo





The five of us—including Samuel—were hauled upstairs through the levels and marched out by several of the boys, with Desmond bringing up the rear, a self-satisfied bounce in her step. I did my best to ignore it, but it was hard to ignore the boys giving me sidelong glances with pain in their eyes.

They looked at me like they wanted to ask why I had betrayed them. As if I could give them an answer to something that wasn’t true.

It hurt that the boys hadn’t trusted me enough to question Desmond’s lies, even if they were being fed a drug. It hurt that they felt I had betrayed them. And at the center of all that hurt was Desmond—whatever she was planning, however she planned to achieve it, looking at those boys made me feel a rage that I had never known before.

I was supposed to be protecting them from people like her, yet I had missed what was going on. If I had been more attentive about what was happening under my nose, I probably could have done something to stop her.

As it was, I kept my mouth shut. I knew that no amount of reasoning with the boys would work now. From their point of view, Violet had pulled out her weapon first. That made her, as well as the rest of us, the aggressors. We were a threat, and we needed to be eliminated.

We reached the final set of stairs, and I felt a coldness in my gut, wondering what exactly Desmond had planned. Would she throw us out of the airlock without a mask, leave us to choke for breath and then suffocate from the toxic fumes of The Green?

No. She had mentioned something about the boys making a “sport” of this. That meant a fighting chance, if only a slim one. I needed to bide my time and see what she had planned. Depending on what it was, it might mean I died a few minutes sooner, fighting for all our lives.

Ahead of me, Violet marched forward, resolute. I felt a pang of sympathy for her—she probably wished she had pulled the trigger before the boys had arrived. As I thought about it, however, I realized that this might be better. Even with the training, the boys still had the potential for volatility, and shooting Desmond would have caused a strong reaction in them.

I realized now that my own rules for the boys would have backfired in a way, had Violet pulled the trigger. Most of them would’ve reacted, seen the others react, and then acted upon their instincts. In a single moment, I could’ve lost her, lost everything. I was grateful that she had decided to back down.

We were shoved unceremoniously into the antechamber. Most of the boys remained in the halls and stairwells—this floor wasn’t open enough to hold all of them. A few of the team leaders stood inside the room, glaring at us. Desmond pushed through the group of boys, placing gentle hands on their shoulders and whispering words of encouragement.

She stepped into the room and raked us with a gaze. “Change,” she ordered.

She must have sent for someone to bring regular clothes, because within seconds of her order, articles of clothing were passed up from the back. Desmond snatched them one by one, tossing them casually on the floor.

I ignored her as I bent over and grabbed the clothing. Tim, Ms. Dale and Violet weren’t wearing invisibility suits, so they had no need to change. I turned my back on them and began changing.

“So, Ms. Dale,” I said conversationally, as I stepped out of the suit. “How do you think Desmond’s going to kick this war off?”

There was a long pause behind me, and then Ms. Dale responded. “It’s… tough to say, Mr. Croft… Starting a war is not an easy business. It requires resources, timing, and careful consideration… Whatever it is, it has to be big.”

I nodded, sliding the pants over my hips and buttoning them quickly. “Like a bombing, maybe?” I asked, casting a quick glance at Desmond to read her expression.

“That might work,” Ms. Dale replied. “But it’d have to be at a target vulnerable enough to cause a public outrage.”

Desmond’s face tightened as her smile began to fade. I hid my face, subsequently hiding my grin, and quickly slipped the shirt over my head. “I see. Like an orphanage?”

Ms. Dale scoffed. “A bit cliché, but it could work. However, I think if it were to be truly believed as an act of war, an orphanage isn’t political enough. It’s all emotion, no real target. No, if it were to be believable, it would be a political target, as well as an emotional one.”