The Law and the Codas

Chapter Thirty

The inside of Della's room, the hardwood creaks as I lug Della toward the bed. Every few feet she winces and clutches her side, though I can see the look of detest swimming in her eyes at having to show such vulnerability to me.

Once Della can place a hand on the bed, I release her from my grasp. She undoes the strap of her thigh holster and sets in on the bedside table, where loaded cartridges lay scattered.

"Here," Della says, handing me her conceal carry holster. I take it, feel the worn leather straps as I run my fingers over them. "Closet." Della points to the door on her right.

I nod as she begins to remove her boots and make for the double doors.

"Ten," Della calls. I slam the door closed, take a few deep breaths and turn to face her. She raises her good arm. "Help me get this off."

I shuffle back across the room and taking Della's injured arm, raise it carefully, and begin to slide the ruined shirt over Della's breasts and head. She heaves a sigh of relief once she's free of the stained, tattered rag. Dirt rubs off on my fingers, the shirt's acrid odor- a mix of smoke and sweat and gunpowder - causing my nose to wrinkle. Della nods to the floor. "Toss it."

I release the garment and let it flutter to the ground. At the slight disturbance, dust takes to the air, coating my sneakers in a thin layer of brown.

Bending over, I wipe the toes of my shoes. "Ever think about hiring some cleaning services? I heard they're pretty cheap. Saw a few adverts on the Network feed before--" I swallow.

Before the pictures came back of the destroyed sect. Before Dove's speech dominated every corner of the Network, the country naively rallying behind his declaration.

Della shifts on the bed, her back flush with the wall. "In there," Della says, motioning toward the bedside table. "There's a few tools wrapped in a towel. Grab them."

She nudges me. "You have sand in your ears?" Grinning, she leans over and adds, "or are you daydreaming about the Chemist? Maybe Ellie didn't manage to intrude at the right moment--"

I cough and yank open the drawer. Inside, just as Della had said, lays a bundle of blue fabric. I toss it across the bed as Della nods her approval. Inside, tools any good mechanic would have at their disposal lay scattered - a screwdriver, ratchet set, a pair of tweezers, electrical tape, and several loose nuts and bolts.

Della grabs the tweezers and places them between her teeth. Taking her good hand, she grabs a flap of torn bio-skin from her prosthetic and wrenches it upward. Her teeth slam down on the tweezers, as the skin is severed from her arm. Black fluid, the grease that kept the gears and finer machinations of the prosthetic running smoothly, ooze over her arm and drip onto the bed. My hand flies up to my mouth as a queasiness erupts in my stomach and the probability of me vomiting over the commander's bed grows steadily more likely.

"Christ," I say, my voice muffled. "Couldn't give me a little heads up?"

Without bothering to acknowledge me, Della spits out the tweezers. "Hand me the screwdriver."

Her intense gaze is focused on the intricacy of the wires which overlap one another like cobwebs. I watch, mesmerized, as she picks through the wires, clipping some, tightening others, all while blue sparks danced above her skin. I'd never seen a prosthetic in person.

Della snaps her fingers and the trance of watching her work is broken. "You do know what a screwdriver is?"

I nod, pick up the slightly rusted tool and toss it onto her lap. "We had to dismember drives and VR dots for tests."