The Gender End by Bella Forrest (the giving tree read aloud TXT) 📕

used correctly, they can prevent you from falling. Where would you like them fed through—your arms or your waist?”

“Arms,” Dalton said bitingly, and I blinked but wisely kept my mouth closed. Arms were fine, but only if you needed to move fast. The waist was better if you had work to do, but it wasn’t my place to question a seven, so I didn’t.

Coming around behind him, I felt around the base of the case and grabbed one of the two metal ends at the bottom, pulling out a long line and threading it through the small loops in his uniform, underneath his arm, and finally through a small eyelet at the bottom. I repeated the process on the other side and then began double-checking each strap, to make sure the harness was secure.

“Okay,” I said as I worked, not wanting to waste any time. “The tip of the lash is designed to absorb ambient static electricity as it flies through the air, building up a charge so that it will bond with anything it touches—metal, glass, you name it. To use it, simply—”

“I know how to use it, Squire,” Dalton practically spat, his patience apparently coming to an end. “I’m a seven, and the Cogs designed and built them for the Knights, if you’ll take a moment to remember.”

“Of course,” I said, trying to remain patient. “But I’m supposed to—”

“I’ll be fine.” End of discussion, apparently. I took a deep breath in, trying to calm some of the resentment that had boiled up in my gut.

“Ready when you are, Cog Dalton,” I said, trying to make my tone as cheerful as possible.

Dalton sighed, then looked over at Gerome, who had rethreaded his own lash to come out from the small eyelets over his hip, just above his belt. Lashes were standard equipment for Knights, so our harnesses were worn under our suits, the lines running through internally designed channels. I had configured mine that morning, knowing we were going outside, in an attempt to prepare beforehand. Apparently that effort was going to go unnoticed.

“Does she have to come?” Dalton asked as he approached the exterior hatch—the only one that led onto the branch. “I would feel much better if it was just you, Knight Nobilis.”

And I would feel better if you slipped off the branch, I thought, then flinched. Bad thoughts. I was having a really hard time controlling them today. Well… every day, really.

Gerome’s voice was patient as he spoke. As if he’d had this conversation too many times before. “She’s my Squire,” he said. “She needs training to be a productive member of the Tower. She’ll be no trouble. I stake my reputation as a Knight on it.”

Honestly, if it had been up to me, I probably would have just stayed in for the day. Going outside the Tower was always something of an ordeal, and one look at Dalton’s sneering face had told me how much more unpleasant the excursion was going to be. Still, it was my duty as a Squire to follow Gerome around and do what he said. And besides, if I didn’t do it, my parents would probably have me executed or something.

Dalton bit his lip and then sighed in defeat. “Fine,” he muttered.

He shoved the exterior hatch wide open and a blaze of bright morning light slashed in. We’d chosen this time of day so as to avoid the intensity of the sun; it would take some time before it started heating the night-cooled air. All the same, I could feel the warmth of it prickling against my skin as I looked out over the solar branch.

The branches were beautiful, in their own way. Massive slats of solar panels spread some three hundred feet out from the Tower, forming a full platform one could walk on. I hopped out after Dalton, watching as he fidgeted with the lash harness. The things weren’t standard issue for mechanics, and, despite his claims to the contrary, he didn’t seem to know how it worked. He pulled the cable from its wrist holster and stuck the glowing tip to the ground. It fizzed, and I winced.

“You’ll want to be really forceful with those,” I called. It was a novice mistake; lashes were designed to be flung with speed and force to absorb the friction in the air and form a static burst when they connected.

Dalton looked up.

“The lashes,” I said, tugging one of my own out. The tip shone with blue light. “You have to really slap them on.”

Dalton stared at me for a moment, then turned away without a word. He stepped away, using his cable to lower himself off the edge of the solar branch and down the side.

“He really should be more forceful with that,” Gerome said, peering out beside me.

I felt a small stir of pride at that. Gerome, like most people aside from my weapons trainers, rarely told me that I’d gotten anything right. Even this wasn’t praise per se but at this point in my life, hearing that I wasn’t a complete colossal failure was worth something.

I peered out over the edge and watched as Dalton slowly descended, the feed in his suit lowering him down. The view was breathtaking; the vibrant green of the river below, coupled with the brighter yellow desert—a desolate wasteland. Coincidentally enough, it was called The Wastes. The sky was already a bright blue, even though it was early morning—but there was nothing to diffuse or block it with. There was rarely a cloud in the sky, and the mountains in the distance were barely visible on the best of days—the heat from the desert acting as a mirage to hinder the view. But on nights when the full moon was out, they could be seen, sitting very small, to the south. Everything else was vast, empty and devoid of life.

Gerome slapped down his lash with a forcible tink, the electricity pulsing in a small series of arcs around the impact point, and began