"There's no need to call me by my former title," Izzer says, his words coated in a thick, southern drawl.
In a former life, his accent had been part of his charm, but not here - here his words could end my life.
With a flick of his wrist, he motions for us to sit, while he shuffles across the floor and pockets a silver lighter. Della's the first to move, sweeping silent and deadly in her black socks over the tile before settling cross-legged onto a couch. A pleased moan escapes her mouth as the supple leather clamors to encase her.
Izzer gravitates toward the high-backed leather chair, a smile flirting with the corners of his mouth. He sits and it's like a king has returned to his throne. Blue eyes, bloodshot yet sharp, inhale every last detail of the space and the people now occupying it.
Izzer's gaze roams over each of us, starting from our heads and going to our toes, before moving on to the next. I stiffen when his eyes drift back to me, like two wayward ships that have finally glimpsed the salvation of a lighthouse.
Izzer snorts, as though he could see through the flesh and muscle, bone and sinew, and glimpse my core, where the fear I house for him continues to bloom. "Well aren't you ever the boring bunch."
He returns his attention to Della, Izzer's gnarled, scarred hand plucks a crystal decanter off a table to his right and raises it for Della's inspection. Amber liquid sloshes against its sides. Her eyes go just the slightest bit wide. "Just one," she says, nodding.
Izzer sets the decanter on the table between them, reaches for two tumblers and begins to pour. "There's no need to limit yourself, Dells."
"It's against my code to drink while on a job," Della says, plucking up the half-full glass and taking a gulp. Her brow furrows, as a sigh escapes her lips. "Got ice?"
Izzer nods, turns back to the little side table and grabs a small, silver container and matching tongs. Chilled smoke rises upward when he removes the lid. Della holds her glass out expectantly as Izzer fishes around for two ice cubes before plunking them into her drink. The glass immediately frosts over. Drink in hand, Izzer leans back in his chair and runs a finger along the rim.
He appears more interested in staring at the liquid than swallowing it. "You know the Forge is safe. No need to worry about our guests. Feel free to enjoy yourself here." A coy smile plays on the man's lips, and his blue-green eyes blaze to life.
Della chuckles. "What makes you think I enjoy being here?" She arches a brow, brings the glass to her lips again.
Izzer's gaze narrows. "I can think of a few times," he says, lowering the glass to rest it on the armrest, "when you enjoyed yourself."
Della shakes her head and brown hair flutters across her face. "Not today."
A slap rings out in the space, and our attention is redirected to Izzer. He's watching us again, smiling. "You know, when it's you and me, Dells, I always forget about everyone else." He lifts his glass. Liquid spills over the sides, "Forgive me," he says. "Alcohol's still prohibited, isn't it?"
Rima shakes her head, though her eyes remain situated on the man's fuzzy, white rug.
"I always lobbied for them to remove that stupid rule," he undoes the diamond-shaped stopper of the decanter and begins to pour himself another. He sets the glass down and slides it toward us, grinning. "Can't win them all, I guess." He points to each of us, then the glass. "You've already broken the Facility's most coveted rule by escaping," he runs a tan finger along the slope of his jaw and stops to stroke at the salt and pepper stubble of his chin. "So, what's one more?"
He leans back in his chair and waits, hands cupping his chin. A look of indifference glazes over his features though his gaze remains laser precise. He's testing us, though I don't know on what. Guess there was no way of bullshitting my way to a passing grade.
Sam lurches forward, his gaze on the glass and the condensation dripping down the sides. He salivates. I can't tell if he's thirsty enough to trust Izzer not to poison him, or is genuinely curious about the taste of alcohol. Whichever reason doesn't matter; Sam's being an idiot.
I grab a fistful of his shirt and yank him back. He stumbles into me, and I do the same. We're like dominoes, one falling on the other, but I'm saved face when I collide into something, thick, solid. When I look up, Sin, his deep brown eyes, and pale, narrow face, stare down at me. He nods and offers me a hand to get to my feet. I push Sam off me and thank him with an equally brief nod. Sam stands rigid, his mouth slack and on the verge of forming words, probably some berating remark, meant for me because I stopped him from doing something stupid.
I poke him in the side, making sure to dig my nail into his flesh. He winces and confusion dances across the anger etched on his face.
"Councilman," I whisper. "Don't trust him."
Just as Sam seems ready to calm, a dry, grating laugh rings out. We both whirl around to face its source. Pain from my injured ankle rockets through me. I wince and gulp back a scream. My teeth slam against each other. I refuse to let Izzer, Della, or the handful of Codas hear my weakness.
"Former Councilman," Izzer says. He leans forward in his seat, hands propping up his chin. My heart slams against my rib cage. "And which number are you?"
My tongue feels thick in my mouth, but I force words to take shape."Ten," I say.
The word hangs in the chasm between myself and Izzer before he smiles and licks his lips as if he liked the way it tasted.
Della places her empty glass on the counter, and the blue glow of the DEC streaks out behind her, adding color to the air for just a second before disappearing. Izzer turns to her, takes note of the chip. "So, she's the one who outfitted you with a DEC?"
Della frowns. She rubs the flesh behind the DEC, afraid of what touching it might cause to happen. "One-zero got the slip on me." The great and mighty Codas Commander avoids meeting my gaze.
I snort. "Guess you can't be the best all the time."
My comment rallies Della to her feet, her hand falling to rest comfortably atop her hip holster, fingers hungry to stick one between my eyes.
Izzer motions toward a sleek, rectangular Dispensary Station nestled in an alcove beside the kitchen sink. It leaks a low, monotonous hum into the air, while blue letters scroll across its touch screen, repeating the same phrase: Evening, Elias. The temperature inside the Aviary is a moderate 72 Fahrenheit. Sectors Seven, Nine, and Fourteen are scheduled for a light rain while Sector Twelve remains closed due to suspected gang violence.
Izzer nods toward the machine. "A small EMP will fry the chip's circuitry," I gasp. How did he-- "It's surprisingly fragile tech for how dangerous it is. Place a pill acquisition and that should do the trick."
Della's eyes go wide. "Should?"
Izzer shrugs. "Unless they've improved upon the original." He motions for Della's Neck. Begrudgingly, He smirks as he traces a finger along her back neck, He barely glances at the DEC. "Looks the same."
Della glowers. "And what if it doesn't work?"
"All twenty," he turns toward me and scratches his nose. "Or is it thirty thousand? It's been a long time--"
"Twenty," I say.
He claps his hands and grins, shifts back so he can look at Della. "Then all twenty thousand volts will freely course through your veins." He sinks back into his chair and lets the fabric form to his body. "Cooked alive. Burned from the inside out." He sticks a fingernail in between his front teeth and tugs. Spittle drips down his chin. "You'll be fine."
Della frowns, but she makes her way toward the Dispensary, her footsteps leaden with trepidation. Motion sensors in the kitchen turn on at Della's approach. The Dispensary glows green, the soft light tracking over Della's face. She stands stock-still as the facial recognition finishes its sweep. The lettering on the touch screen turns neon pink as the words Welcome Back, Dells roll across the screen.
She scowls.
Izzer shrugs."You're here so often I thought I'd add you to the system." He slings an arm over the backrest. "Go on. I've programmed all your favorites." Della sneers and presses Monday's selection. "Go figure," she tsks as a paper cup is pushed through a slot in the dispensary's bottom. "you can remember my prescriptions but not my--"
There's a whir and then three pills trickle out of a hose wedged in the dispensary's top. Two blue, one red. David would be able to identify them by size, shape, and color alone, but his gaze hasn't wavered from the holographic images decorating Izzer's walls. Della reaches for the cup and when she does, the DEC gives a little pop. The electrical current blinks in and out before going dark. Now just a metallic chip, Della smiles and chucks it, along with the paper cup and pills, down the sink drain.
"Told you I was never wrong." Izzer lifts his glass in the air, before taking a swig. Liquid runs down his chin and onto his shirt front. "Guess there's no need for that activation key you've got stashed on you."
I tense, lock my jaw. He smiles, flashing me those perfect, white teeth he'd used to fool millions. While giving this same smile he'd ordered assassinations of foreign dignitaries, used chemical warfare to massacre thousands who'd stood in opposition, forged alliances with terrorist organizations to further the FUA's control over the western hemisphere. My blood ices over.
"You're supposed to be dead!" Sam says, adding a voice to the question we all had buzzing around in the back of our brains.
"Did you now?" Izzer steps toward Sam. He shudders back and onto Rima's toes. She winces but seems too afraid to speak up. "See my face?" Hard lines cut trenches across Izzer's forehead. His lips are pulled as taut as razor wire. "Examine the corpse?" Cold indifference infiltrates each word, stamping out his accent. He takes another step forward. Sam flounders, his eyes scanning the room frantically searching for an exit, but he's got nowhere to go.
Izzer's lips break into a snarl. "Compare fingerprints, blood samples, goddamned DNA?" He slams his fist onto the edge of the glass table. Blood sprays from busted knuckles but the former Councilor doesn't seem to mind.
Izzer runs a hand over his head, smoothing back the hairs that had fallen in front of his vision. He sighs and a smile returns to his face, though his eyes remain hardened stone. "The Law is made up of Liars. There's not a modicum of truth that spills out of their mouths. You should know that better than anyone."
His dark eyes dance from Sam to Rima. She flinches at the sudden attention and squeezes Joey. Izzer's eyebrows shoot upward. "That from the Facility?"
Rima takes a step back.
Izzer snarls. "You'll need to do a better job if you plan on surviving." He moves beside the fridge, which, for a moment, engulfs him behind the large, white door. Sam takes this moment to breathe and to wipe away the tears staining Rima's cheeks. "We'll get you another," he says, twining a strand of her hair around his finger. She nods.
When Izzer reemerges, he's got a half-dozen of water bottles piled in his arms. He tosses them onto the floor. "I'm sure you're all thirsty." He points to the bottles and sighs. "There's more in the fridge."
One rolls near my foot and I reach for it with every intent to offer it to Sam, when I notice, Sin's got one in his outstretched palm. Sam blinks a few times, before taking the bottle with a nod.
"Dells," Izzer says. "There's a little Chinese place on the fringe of Sector Nine. Send someone out for dinner." He scratches his nose and makes for the door he'd slithered out of. "Make sure you send your guys to the place with the good noodles this time. Last time they'd drenched my lo mein in that reproduction soy powdered shit. No fuck ups this time, okay?"
Della raises to her feet. "And where do you get off talking to me like that?" Her finger grazes the gun holster. Keran mimics her commander.
"I'm going to bed," he says, hand on the doorknob. "I'll do the chips before dawn, blah, blah." He waves a hand dismissively. "Get them bandaged up," he shoots me a look. "Ten's ankle has been hurting for a while, hasn't it?" I keep silent, still. He shrugs. He opens the door, and is immediately bathed in soft, blue light. "You all know the routine. Don't bother me." He slams the door shut. There's a click as a lock slips in place.
Della stomps her feet and whips around to face us. "You heard the asshole. Keran," Keran snaps to attention so hard I think she might break open at the waist. "Take them downstairs, get them settled. Dieter, take Jensen and Nose and get us food."
Dieter and Nose slap their chests while Jensen simply nods.
Della smiles. "Go to Cho's on the Sector's west side and ask for a fuck ton of soy powder."
Della and Leeds make for the elevator, while Keran scoops up a few water bottles and tosses them into our arms. My fingers slip over the wrapper that states the bottle was imported from Italy. "Time for bed." She leads us toward the elevator, then hangs a sharp right. We trudge down down a flight of steep stairs, a single light bulb illuminating our way.
"Tomorrow's a big day," Keran says, and smiles.