Icarus

Part 7

Meanwhile at the police station, Lyr had just started her plan when the sound of the door unlocking made her jump. Mentally cursing, she hastily tried to replace the ceiling tiles she’d been taking down. It didn’t work, and they fell to the floor with a crash, nearly knocking her from the chair she’d been standing on. She turned in the chair, expecting to see Gray ready to beat her up, but instead came face-to-face with a tall gangly man, looking up at her through a pair of square glasses perched precariously on top of his crooked, beaky nose. Those, combined with his bemused expression, flushed skin, and slightly straggly receding hairline, gave her the impression that she was looking at a humanoid ostrich. Instead of yelling at her, he closed the door behind him and plunked himself down into the other chair.
“At some point, you’re going to need to tell me how you did that. Got the handcuffs off, I mean. But for now, I’d like to see your Chip, please.”
Lyr glared at him, jumping down from the chair and making a dash for the door. Lightning-quick, the man grabbed her arm. He was stronger than he looked.
“Please don’t do that. I have the key anyway. I really don’t want this to get any more violent than it already has.”
There was something about the way he said the last sentence that made Lyr pause. He clearly wasn’t threatening her, he just sounded wearily annoyed and a tad resigned. As soon as she stopped struggling, he let go of her.
“I’m Toral. If you’ll sit down, I can scan your Chip, and we can both get this over with. I’ll put in a good word for you so you’ll only spend a few days in prison instead of weeks, if you want.”
Lyr stared at him.
“So why exactly are you being this nice?”
“Because I can. I personally don’t think you did much of anything wrong, and I want to help you out.”
“Then let me escape. I know how to make it look like you didn’t help me. You won’t get blamed.”
“I’m sorry, but no.”
Lyr growled in desperate frustration.
“Ugh. Fine.”
She thrust her right hand at the man, biting her lip raw to keep from crying. She’d just lost her last chance at escape. Toral swiped a Scanlamp, a higher-tech handheld version of the kind used at monorail stations, over her skin, frowning. He tried again.
“That’s odd. Your Chip isn’t responding. It’s not broken, it just isn’t reacting to the usual wavelength.”
He tried a third time, and this time the Scanlamp’s light wasn’t the normal bluish purple, but an angry shade of red. Roger’s fake Chip started to glow a similar shade of red, shining through her skin. Toral’s eyes widened until she thought they’d pop right out of their sockets. This time when he looked up at her, his expression had switched to something much more calculating. Something dangerous.
“You, young lady, have a counterfeit Chip. I assume you know what the penalty for an offense this severe is.”
Lyr yanked away from him, summoning up her last bit of bravado. She wasn’t going to die as a meek little mouse. She spat in the man’s face, hitting him squarely on one lens of his glasses.
“I can guess, based on how merciful the Elites are known for being. You’re just another one of their complacent little puppets, huh?”
“It would normally be death. And it still might be if you keep acting like this. But . . . your false Chip doesn’t come from any known source. This particular science-magic energy signature is completely absent from our database. So I think the Elites may have a few questions to ask you about where you got it, Lyr.”
She flinched. This guy knew exactly who she was, or about as much as she did, anyhow. He must be one of the Elites’ special agents. And now he’d be taking her straight to the Elites themselves. He wasn’t the harmless old ostrich she’d mistaken him for. He’d probably gladly help with whatever they were going to do to her next. Unfortunately, she didn’t have much doubt about what that was. Torture.
“You’re not going to break me.” She snapped. “I don’t care what you do, you can’t make me tell you anything!”
He shrugged his bony shoulders, absently cleaning her spit off his glasses. 
“That’s what they all say. Trust me, resistance is just going to make things more unpleasant for both of us.”
Propping the glasses back up on his nose, Toral gave her a wide smile that looked scarily genuine.
“Although I’m sure the Viper will . . . quite enjoy any resistance you put up.”
Lyr gave an involuntary shudder. The Viper was the Elites’ torturer. Nobody in Port Nerona’s criminal underworld had ever met her and stayed sane enough to tell the tale.

Lyr had no time to do anything else before the man waved a small canister in her face. Some kind of thick smoke billowed out, filling the room with the sour, fermented smell of rotting fruit. She immediately felt her eyelids getting heavy and tried to dodge away, but her knees buckled and she collapsed in a heap on the floor.
Panic surged through her as her limbs refused to respond, and the last thing she saw before she lost consciousness was Toral’s face looming over her, still wearing that creepy smile.