The Law and the Codas

Chapter Twenty-Two

06:00 a.m

In the lounge, small fold-out tables and metal chairs take up space where plush chaises and roped-off sections would have been if the place remained a purveyor of virtual debauchery.

A group of Codases in grungy streetwear sit stretched out in a corner of the room, trays of still steaming food set on their laps. Most of them look in their mid-twenties, though there are three, one of them the shaved head girl from last night - Ellie - who looks no older than sixteen. My chest tightens and I let my gaze drift away from them, and toward a corner table at the opposite end of the room occupied by Marava, Jonathan, and Sin.

An empty chair on Jonathan's right beckons to me, and, trying to hobble as little as possible, I manage to make way over and plop down in it. The cool, hard metal is equally as uncomfortable as the thin, lumpy cot and paper-thin blanket we'd been saddled with last night.

From behind, a plastic tray is hefted over my head and onto the table in front of me. The brownish stuff Marava'd been heaping into Jonathan's mouth, sloshes from side to side, it's oily surface reflecting a distorted image of me with bloodshot eyes, unkempt brows, and the hair of someone who's stuck their fingers into every electrical socket they could find.

Sin sits down opposite me. "Canned potatoes and gravy," he says, pointing to the tray. "They've got coffee too, but the water needs to boil."

He hefts a spoonful of the so-called potatoes and gravy into his mouth and clamps down as though his life depended on him eating every last drop.

I'm not as enthusiastic at my breakfast prospect. There's something in the way the gravy's too runny and the potatoes seem to bob in it that reminds me of last evening's sewer stroll. My stomach clenches and I slide the tray away. "I'd rather chew rocks."

Sin's on his third, heaping spoonful. Gravy dribbles down his chin. "It's probably all we'll get to eat before we leave."

Placing both elbows on the table, and eliciting another glare and snort from Marava, I lean toward Sin. "And how do you think that'll happen?" I look around, eyeing the other Codases sitting around a leather ottoman, feet propped up as they lean in cushioned chairs chatting and eating their slop. "Mid-level access? They know we're here. Militia in the lower sectors? That's nearly unheard of. If they called them there, they have to be out in full-force in the residential sectors. There's no way we'll go unseen."

"Well," Jonathan says, as he chews on his latest spoonful of breakfast. He swallows and Marava goes for the napkin. He shakes his head and instead wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. "They did say we were just bodies."

"Yeah, but right now we have a purpose. It's a pretty shitty business model to send your employees to their deaths before they can make you any money."

"You don't think I'd send you mid-level without a plan?" Della slams her fist on the end of the table, making some of my gravy jump ship and ooze across the table.

"I was going to eat that," I say, folding my arms over my chest.

She smiles and places a mug of coffee in front of me. "No, you weren't. You were too busy questioning my operation." Steam wafts off the freshly brewed liquid. The smell is intoxicating. I lean over the cup, inspect it, sniff it, making undeniably sure it was real. Sliding my hand through the handle, its warmth transferring to the skin of my palm, I bring it to my lips and take a sip. I sigh as the bitter taste coats my tongue and throat.

"I wasn't questioning your operation." I take another, bigger gulp of coffee. "I was questioning your leadership of it."

Della snorts. "There's a residential clean-up scheduled for today. All able-bodied men, women, and children are required to take part. Even if they've got Militia stationed at every corner, a mob that size acts as a great cover."