The Law and the Codas

Chapter Twenty-Three

 Marava's eyes glimmer as they roam over something that isn't, for the first time, Jonathan. It's a little unbelievable - her mouth agape, her eyes widening to saucer diameter as they canvas the arched ceiling, metallic rails, and the bullet-shaped car with its shattered windows and bucket seats. She wets her lips and reaches out to lay her hands over the name R33. A reverent sigh escapes her lips. Jonathan tightens his hold on her waist.

She blinks, as though his touch has jostled something loose in her brain. "It's wondrous," she says, peering at the train car. "You can almost smell the history."

Sam waves a hand in front of his face, frowning. "Smells like piss."

Marava growls. "This is history untouched by the FUA." She's on her tiptoes, stretching her body to its limits, to reach into the car and graze one of the hanging, still-intact leather loops. "This is how our ancestors lived, how they traveled from one place to another."

"You can learn all that on the Network," Mara says. "We have full access to unaltered history."

Marava snorts as she retracts her hand through the tiny, oblong window frame. "You think that what we see isn't filtered? That our searches aren't logged and monitored? That none of us got flagged for researching a topic the Law deemed 'unhealthy'?"

Marava turns and runs her hands over the ruins of a brick column. A film of dust pales her fingertips. "There's no way for us to know what is the undiluted truth unless we see it for ourselves. This," she arcs her hand over her head. "Is undiluted truth."

"Well," Sam slumps back against the wall. "The undiluted truth smells worse than the Aviary's sewer system."

"Same," I say ambling past Sam. "I'll take the perfumed half-truths any day."

Della steps past us motions toward the second car. A line of Codas members, like diligent worker bees, scurry between the two railway lines, huge plastic bins cradled in their arms.

"I thought places like this had been blocked off."

Della smirks and slows her pace so I can catch up. "They have, officially."

"A few maps float around the Net, available for purchase." She places her hands behind her neck and yawns. The sound echoes in the cavernous space.

"And so you bought a map, and scoped out every possible point of entry?"

Della chuckles. "Even if I sent the whole Collective there wouldn't be enough. Luckily, people on the lower sects love some added income and are willing to commit to some seedy transactions."

"How long did it take?"

"Five years, It took five years to map out the underground terrain and another three to clear the rubble and clean the air." Della's answers

We stop just outside the door to the train car. Della raises her hand and then balls her fist. "Take ten," she says.

The nearest Codas, one who'd been wiping his face with the bottom of his shirt, turns to the others. "You heard the Commander." One after another, the Codases set down their bins and head toward the tunnel entrance.

I grab onto one of the car's metal poles. Grease sticks to my fingers. "Why is it we're always being shoved into cramped, dark, uncomfortable spaces?"

Della nods solemnly while raising her left arm. She pulls back on her thumb, her face an expressionless mask as the tip of her finger touches her wrist.

"Della!" I reach out to stop her, but she slaps my hand away.

She turns her hand upward, traces a line down the middle of her palm, and presses at the top of her wrist. With a soft sigh, a panel of her flesh lifts away, exposing dozens of wires. Blue neutral signals dance above the wires, speeding so fast I can't make out where one ends and another begins.