I shrug. “Settle down. Buy a mansion. Not have to sail across the world your whole life.”
Charlie shrugs. “Sailing’s not so bad.”
I examine her soft face, the far-off look in her usually sharp eyes.
“What’s the real reason you don’t want to sell it?” I ask.
She glances down at the pistol in the holster, then at the dead bird on the deck. “People won’t just be using these to shoot birds, now, will they?”
“You’re not exactly one to shy away from violence,” I point out.
“Not when it’s necessary,” she says. “But how many people would use it that way?”
“You could choose who you sold it to,” I suggest.
She shakes her head. “Someone would break down the design, recreate it for themselves.”
“So you’re worried you’ve created something that will cause more destruction in the world?” I ask.
Charlie nods, thinking it over. “Maybe.”
I pause. “You’re a genius. You know that, right?”
Charlie puts her hands on her hips, a faint smirk tugging at the corner of her mouth. “Of course I know that.”
“Well, good. So don’t take this the wrong way,” I add, “but you’re not the only genius in the world. Someone else will figure it out eventually.”
Charlie shoots me a look, though I can tell the thought has been plaguing her.
“Do you remember what you told me when you first showed me you were working on it?” I ask.
Charlie shakes her head.
“We were talking about being human, about being women in a world dominated by men,” I say. “How our bodies can’t defend us the way we wish they could. So we have to come up with other means. Other avenues of power.”
Charlie doesn’t say anything, but there’s no scenario in which she doesn’t remember the conversation.
“What if you could give women that power?” I ask. “What if you could give it to the helpless—those whose bodies can’t defend themselves?”
She glances down at the pistol, then back at me. “There’s no way to make sure that power stays in the right hands.”
“No,” I agree, “but you can control who gets a chance at that power to begin with.”
Charlie pulls the pistol from its holster, stroking the barrel. The sleek black metal gleams in the sunlight, casting a glare that’s almost blinding.
She doesn’t say she’ll think about it, but Charlie and I don’t always need words to communicate. Just then, a rustle on the deck behind us catches my attention. We both glance over our shoulders, only to find Maddox, barking orders to the crew. His golden hair gleams as brightly as the barrel of Charlie’s pistol, and she quickly looks away, tucking the weapon back into her holster.
“Are you going to forgive him?” I ask.
“No,” she says flatly. “Should I?” she adds, her tone defensive.
“Are you asking for my permission?” I laugh.
She shakes her head, though her lip twitches in the slightest smile. Behind her, on the other side of the deck, Maddox hoistsa barrel onto his shoulders. Charlie isn’t looking at him, but he keeps glancing over at her.
“I have a feeling he’ll give you a good reason to forgive him,” I say.
“Yeah, well, he might just be taking too long,” she mutters.
