The Gender End Page 3

  “Can’t you move the chair first?” she pleaded. “Stand it up?”

  I shook my head. “The chair is too heavy.” It really was. It was a monstrous frame of metal and padding that was meant to be welded into the ship. Amber had once told me it was supposed to keep the pilots safe in the event of a crash, but that meant the thing probably weighed several hundred pounds. “We have to do this now. The ship is flying on an unknown course into unknowable terrain.”

  She nodded, and I reached out to undo the clasp still holding her. I tried to break her fall, but the space was tight and one hand was essentially useless thanks to the cast. She dropped roughly, and unexpectedly, the last few inches to the ground, and gave an agonized cry as she landed on her hand.

  “At least you can feel it?” I asked gently, trying to bolster her spirits as I helped picked her up.

  It didn’t work at all. The look she gave me was two parts anger, one part agony, and three parts revenge, but it couldn’t be helped. I needed her help, and I felt a stab of irritation. I was literally the only one of the three of us doing anything to help her. I ignored the feeling, knowing that the way she felt about me didn’t matter, as long as we could work together.

  She leaned heavily on me, tears streaking down her cheeks. “It’s really hard not to believe what they’ve said about you right now,” she whispered accusingly, and I suppressed another surge of resentment, clenching my teeth together to prevent myself from saying anything too inflammatory. Keep the peace, I reminded myself. I was better than this. And I was beyond my long history of brawling for petty reasons, too… I hoped.

  “I’m sorry that you’re in pain,” I said as I gently guided her around. “Just look at this place.”

  Her eyes narrowed as she surveyed the damaged remains of the cockpit. “Sweet mother. That monster gutted it!”

  I bristled. Let her think whatever she wanted about me, but Solomon was a victim in all this. “He’s not a monster. His name is Solomon, and he’s my friend. If you want to blame anyone for what happened here, blame your precious Desmond. It’s her fault he is the way he is, and I’m glad he threw her out of the cargo bay.”

  I wasn’t surprised to find that I was glad she was dead. Well, relieved, anyway. Glad in the way that it felt like a great weight I’d been carrying around, a cloud of worry, nightmares, and fear, had suddenly evaporated, leaving the way clear for me to go on to other things. My hatred of her would take longer to cool and leave my body, but it would heal in time.

  The pilot’s face went pale at the mention of how Solomon had killed Desmond, and she looked at me with a healthy dose of panic in her eyes. “Is he still onboard?”

  Nodding, I moved her forward a few steps, taking it slow for her. “He is, but he’s unconscious. Desmond shot him a few times.”

  “He shouldn’t still be… Belinda?”

  I looked up and saw the warden who’d tried to trip me earlier ducking down to avoid hitting the overhanging ceiling as she stepped through the door, her brown eyes taking in the damage. She glanced over at the pilot and took a step forward.

  “Kathryn, you’re alive.”

  The pilot—Kathryn—groaned, but nodded. “Painfully so, but yes. Let me see what I can make of this mess.”

  Kathryn’s arm pressed insistently on my neck and shoulder, but I didn’t want to move any closer to Belinda—not with my gun in my pants. “Stand on your own. Belinda will help you, if need be.”

  Belinda gave me an incredulous look, but I gave Kathryn a moment and then stepped away from her, pulling my gun. Kathryn wobbled for a second, before Belinda moved in to take my spot supporting her. “We’re not going to accomplish anything with a gun held on us,” Kathryn announced softly.

  “I’d agree with you,” I replied coolly, “but there are two of you, and Belinda is much bigger than I am, and uninjured. I’m not certain I can trust you enough to work with you, but I need your help to repair the ship and get us back home.”

  “It seems you have an important decision to make,” said Belinda, helping Kathryn to move forward so she could peer out the bubble window that made up the nose of the cockpit.

  “Well, she’d better make it soon,” whispered Kathryn, and I focused on her, noting her wide eyes and stiff spine. “Because I think I’d rather take the bullet than fly into that.”

  I stepped forward, keeping my gun trained on them both, and peered through the dark window, searching for the familiar sight of stars. They hung just as normal in the top half of the sky, but on the horizon, barely visible in the moonlight, a swirling black and gray wall of storm clouds in the distance blotted out the stars, growing larger as we hurtled toward it.

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  3

  VIOLET

  We were soaring toward a cloud bank. It was still far away, but lightning flashed behind it, and the ominous clouds seemed swollen and turbulent, as if their thin mass were barely containing the storm raging within. Without the use of most of the instruments, not to mention the ability to control the aircraft, we would be completely unable to avoid any solid formation obscured by the storm, with no way to even tell there was an obstacle until the heloship hit it. Or lightning struck it. Or the violent winds tore it apart.

  My heart thudded against my ribs, once, twice, even a third time, before my mind kicked itself awake, pushing through the uncertainty that had gained temporary control over my body. I looked at Kathryn and Belinda, and saw they were both looking at me. It took me another heartbeat to realize why.

  The gun. Of course—it was ridiculous to think we could work together as long as they perceived I held the power. I looked down at it and then back at the pilot. “What do we do?” I asked as I ejected the magazine onto the floor and pulled back the slide to release the round in the chamber. The bullet and clip clattered to the floor, and I doubled over to pick them up. “You keep the bullets,” I muttered, pushing them into Belinda’s hands as I moved past her, shoving the now-useless gun into my pants. I still had the backup stash in the bathroom, so if worst came to worst, I could still resort to violence—right now it was merely a gesture. Although, from the gleam in Belinda’s eyes, I knew she was considering taking the gun and the power, right now.

  Unfortunately for her, we didn’t have time for that. I looked over at Kathryn, who had gone back to staring frozenly out the window. “HEY!” I shouted, stomping loudly on the floor. Kathryn whipped her head back round to look at me. “We need to get this thing out of the way of that storm. You’re the pilot. What. Do I. Do?”

  Her terrified eyes blinked, and she took a deep breath, seemingly pulling herself together. “Right,” she said, her gaze going back to the bubble window and the wall of storm clouds looming ever closer, her tongue darting out to swipe at her dry lips. “Right,” she repeated, her eyes tracing the lines of damage.

  “There’s a panel there,” she said, pointing to just behind where her uprooted seat used to be. The panel was clearly delineated in the floor, with some sort of chrome around the edges and a half-ring handle sitting on its side in a slotted space, so it lay evenly on the floor.

  I slipped my fingers under the ring, prying it up so I could get a better grip. At the same time, Kathryn began to speak. Even though her voice was loud, her words seemed more directed at herself. “No displays. The column is heavy, indicating loss of hydraulic fluids. No response in over half the controls. How’s it coming on that panel?”

  Grunting, I pulled at it with my left arm, which was considerably weaker than my right, and began to lift the dense panel up, coming around it so that I was directly behind it and pulling. “It’s been better! Belinda!”

  Belinda was still standing there, her hands loosely clutching the magazine and single bullet I had handed her. “What’s the point?” she asked numbly, her brown eyes staring out the window. “We’re in The Outlands. Nothing ever comes back from The Outlands. We’re screwed.”

  “Excellent defeat story, but I’m shooting for a happier ending. So get your
butt over here and help me. RIGHT. NOW!” I wasn’t sure how I managed it, but for an instant, my voice sounded exactly like Ms. Dale’s—firm, uncompromising, and filled with an edge of superiority that surprised even me. It seemed to jolt Belinda from the fugue she had fallen into, and she moved toward me, a bit robotically.

  I almost sagged in relief as she took some of the paneled door’s weight from me. We heaved it over and looked down into the cavity we had opened up. Four blue glowing cables as thick as my wrist ran through it, held in by steel brackets. Dozens of other wires shot off from them, and an array of buttons, levers, and switches decorated all four sides.

  Belinda and I exchanged looks, and she gave me a wide-eyed head shake. “This wasn’t in the field manual,” she said shakily.

  “It’s open,” I shouted at Kathryn, ignoring Belinda, dropping to my belly and pointing over at where I had left the toolkit earlier—on the holotable in the center of the command deck. Belinda stood laboriously with a defeated sigh, but went to fetch it as Kathryn turned and examined it.

  “Pull the red wires, and tell me what happens to the third cable from the left,” she ordered, and I began yanking the wires from the plugs on the panels.

  “The cable is flickering,” I said as I finished. “It’s rhythmic… What is that…?”

  “It’s the heart of the ship,” Kathryn supplied, squatting down awkwardly. “It’s the computer, or part of it, and if it’s flickering, it means we have more control than I thought. If we can interface with it. I’m glad we got a response, but that’s not super critical right now.” She sounded relieved—well, as relieved as could be expected. “Now that you’ve pulled the red, flip those two switches—those two—the green and the yellow.”

  I followed her instructions, and something clicked overhead. The pilot stood up, wobbling slightly, and nodded up at a square panel that had just dropped from the ceiling. “Hydraulic hoses are going to be in there. I need you to pull that panel down so I can check the pump.”

  I stretched for it, but it was just out of reach. Looking around for something to stand on, I was rudely pushed out of the way as Belinda shoved me to one side. I balled up my fist and whipped around, expecting her to go for the gun, but she just rolled her eyes at me and reached up, easily pulling down the panel I needed. Four square metal rods extended from it as it came down. Inside were several thick plastic tubes attached to a cylindrical black metal device. The tubes were clear, save for several large dots of bright green liquid, clinging to their insides.

  The pilot stared at the tubes, her eyes moving, and she cursed. “The pump is cracked. It must’ve happened when that thing yanked out the seat.”

  “His name is Solomon,” I said sharply.

  She gave me a hard look. “Your friend broke my arm and my hand and is responsible for this mess,” she reminded me coldly, but I didn’t feel ashamed for defending him. He wasn’t fully in control of his actions. I fought off the urge to inform her of that, knowing we didn’t have time. It wasn’t relevant—but if they tried to hurt him, I’d throw them off the ship faster than they could say what.

  Kathryn continued. “Belinda, there’s a can of hydraulic fluid in the back. You, Violet, I need you to manually feed the fluid in. You’re going to have to pour some into the tube and then blow, so we can get it into what’s left of the steering column.”

  I nodded, a flash of lightning out the window catching my attention. “Awesome,” I replied dryly, turning away from the storm and directing my attention back to the pump. Thunder clapped, and the entire heloship shuddered with it, setting my teeth on edge.

  I yanked the feed tube, as Kathryn called it, off of the spout leading to the pump, and turned to the bay, watching Belinda as she effortlessly dangled from one of the cargo bay’s roof beams, extracting a can from the red netting strung up over the bay. She dropped down with a clang and raced toward us.

  “Excellent, Belinda,” said Kathryn. “Grab a funnel from the tool kit and give it to Violet, then take what’s left of the steering column and pull hard, to the left. It’s going to fight you, so you have to keep pulling.”

  Belinda nodded. “Keep pulling,” she repeated as she stooped over to grab the funnel. She helped me place the tip of the funnel into the tube and open the can of hydraulic fluid. If she felt any resentment for having to help me in my one-handed state, she managed to keep it to herself.

  She moved around me to the column, and I began to pour, using the two most mobile fingers on my casted hand to carefully hold the tube. My fingers were freezing in the cold whistling in from the cargo bay, but I maintained my grip, knowing that dropping them right now could mean the difference between life and death. The can glugged as the green liquid shot out in jerky little spurts, beginning to fill the tube. I held it as high as I could, trying to get more in and keep air out, then set the can down, removed the funnel, and pressed my lips to the end of the tube, trying not to think about the chemicals I was about to put right next to my mouth. I hoped they weren’t that toxic.

  Kathryn shouted, “Now!” and I began to blow, hard, as Belinda grunted and heaved against the broken remains of the column. There was a metallic grating sound, and Kathryn looked up. I kept blowing until my lungs refused to expel any more air, and then quickly replaced the funnel, filling the tube up while trying to wipe my mouth on my shoulder. Kathryn stepped closer to the window—so close that the toes of her boots were hanging over the edge of the metal flooring and onto the glass.

  “Again,” she said, a sharp edge in her voice.

  I glanced up as I lowered the can back down and saw only the cloud wall. We were turning, and there was still clear sky in the direction we were heading, but if we couldn’t get the angle of turn sharper, then we wouldn’t make it. I placed the tube to my lips, and when Kathryn shouted “Go!” I blew as hard as I was able to.

  Belinda strained, and there was another metallic grinding noise overhead. “It’s the rudders,” Kathryn informed us. “They’re squeaking because there isn’t enough fluid. Just ignore it for now.”

  “Are we good?” asked Belinda, sweat dripping down her forehead as she struggled against the column. I studied it and her. She was strong, her biceps straining against the tight fabric of her uniform, but the black tube that jutted from the ceiling had only moved a few inches.

  Kathryn shook her head as she continued to peer out of the window. “Not yet… But I think we’re going to make it. One more time.”

  I sucked in yet another huge breath and blew for all I was worth as Belinda tugged the column toward herself, using her bodyweight to leverage it over as far as she could. The heloship shuddered slightly, but nothing else broke—and then Kathryn gave an excited whoop.

  “We did it!”

  I scrubbed my mouth against the sleeve of my jacket again, the strange mix of chemicals clinging to my lips, and moved up next to her. The arc of the turn was swinging us widely, but as more and more of the dark, starry night swung into view, I felt confident in Kathryn’s assessment.

  “Great, so now all we have to do is figure out where we can turn ourselves around, and…”

  Kathryn noticed it just as I did. The jagged piece of rock—the edge of a cliff—appearing just to the left of the window. It was jutting out of the wall of storm clouds, dizzyingly close. Too close. We were going to hit.

  I abandoned the hydraulics and simply threw myself into the steering column, pushing on it from the opposite side. Belinda grunted, looking up at me from her tilted position. “What is it?” she demanded, her eyes wide.

  “Rock!” I shouted, as Kathryn pushed against me, trying to add to the weight we were putting onto the column. I felt the thick bit of metal shift, just a bit, underneath, and then there was a sharp jerk that pushed me farther forward before tossing me back. Kathryn fell, screaming in agony, as the whole ship bucked.

  There was an awful scraping sound, and I felt certain half the ship was going to come off. And then, just as suddenly as it started, it stopped. />
  I was on the floor, Belinda’s heavy legs on top of my chest. I pushed them off and picked myself up as Kathryn continued to wail in agony. I moved over to her. She rocked back and forth on her side on the floor, shakily holding her arm and hand out in front of her.

  “Wait,” I said, looking around the room for the medkit.

  “Are we safe?” she whimpered, her voice fighting through the agony she was experiencing. I found the medkit on the floor and moved over to it, taking a moment to check the window.

  “We are,” I replied. The cloud bank was curving off to the right, rapidly giving way to the dark sky and a narrow ribbon of pink beginning to creep into the sky over the horizon. I scooped the medkit off the floor and headed back over. I could appreciate the view later. Kathryn was in serious pain.

  “Here.” I took another of the packets out and placed it on her neck. She was sweating, so the adhesive didn’t immediately stick. Sighing, I carefully wiped down her neck with my sleeve, and then put it back down.

  If she found me cleaning her neck odd, she didn’t comment on it, and I didn’t feel the need to either. She also didn’t say thank you, even after I helped her sit up and move over to one of the seats bolted on the side of the wall. It wasn’t worth commenting on, and maybe it was a bit petty of me to expect thanks in the first place. Besides, Kathryn was in pain, and I of all people knew how much that changed what came foremost in one’s brain.

  “Rest a minute,” I ordered her, suddenly feeling bone-weary. “Belinda? You still with us?”

  Belinda groaned and sat up, shaking her head. “What did we hit?” she asked, rubbing a growing dark spot just above her eyebrow.

  “The rock,” I retorted sarcastically, then got ahold of myself and toned it down to something slightly more civil. “You okay?”

  She gave me a confused look. “What do you care?”

  I gave her an incredulous look and put my hand on my hip. “I care because you represent two of the three functional hands on this heloship, and I very much like being alive.”