The Gender End by Bella Forrest (top young adult novels .txt) 📗

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