The Queer Rebels

Chapter 20: Canceling

There is one thing that the common bunk room has going for it: it has windows. The view from them isn't great. All you can see is the back corner of the expansive asphalt parking lot, tall grass sprouting from weathered cracks, and a few evergreen trees beyond the curb. But having natural sunlight feels like a luxury.

I peek an eye open and glance at my hands. They look different again today; more masculine.

Three shots in now, and I can feel my biology ramping up. Things are changing at a quicker rate than Harry prepared me for. My voice keeps cracking, hairs thickening, strength blooming. Even my emotions are becoming larger, my dreams more vivid.

And I'm so fucking horny, I can barely concentrate.

Which isn't great, because things haven't quite been the same with Marcy since we moved to the common bunks after our argument three weeks ago. In fact, it took Marcy two weeks and me pointing them out for her to notice my first actual sprouts of a beard, no wearable tech involved.

It's not my fault she is still struggling to sync with wearable tech. I wish she'd be more happy for me.

Harry says it's the fastest he's ever seen the tech work on someone.

Satisfied with the progress, I roll over, pull my covers over my head, and clench my eyes shut.

There's a different level of noise in the room this morning. A chain of whispers punctuated by grunts of confusion.

At first, I try to ignore it. But before I can even pretend to be back in dreamland, a hand shakes my shoulder.

"What?" I groan and peek my head out.

It's Marcy. Which is a surprise because, as methodical and organized as she is, she is never awake before me.

I rub the sleep out of my eyes and look around at everyone milling about. "Is everything okay?"

"Training's canceled," she replies. "No explanation was given."

I sit up, careful not to knock my head into the top bunk. "That's odd. Do you think something's wrong? Maybe it's the Luddites..."

She shakes her head. "We don't know that. Let's not assume the worst."

After the compound threat three weeks ago, things have been eerily quiet–no more weird noises or secret meetings with Harry–but our training has intensified.

A lot of our sessions have focused on how to heal yourself. Everyone was trained on how to use the NanoPen, the device Harry used to heal my sprained ankle. And we watched a film about how neurotransmitters can give you more control over your own healing processes.

Not that the Queer Rebels have enough trained surgeons to implant neurotransmitters in everyone who wants one.

We've also been training in self-defense. With enough practice, wearable tech can help with camouflage, creating armor, and projecting images meant to intimidate and scare.

It's like they've been preparing us for something. So the fact that training has been canceled? That's not good. In my gut, I know this is serious.

Marcy sits down on the foot of my bed, puffs out her cheeks, and lets out a long exhale.

Peering around the room, I see Mitchell in a corner with Tyree and Jenelle. I don't see Alex.

"How does everyone know?" I ask, assuming the message has been spread by word of mouth, like so much information here seems to be.

"There's a notice posted on the door." She points to the end of the room. "It was there when the first person woke up."

I can't see the door from where I am lying, and I'm also not quite ready to move. "How long have you been awake?"