The liquid boils until the pill dissolves, giving the Elysium it's trademark blue color. Steam whistles from the beaker, until, with a pair of metal tongs, I carefully take it off the burner, and pour the liquid into a funnel. Clear tubes wind outward from the funnel mouth like sprawling tentacles, each going to a different vial.
When they're three-quarters full, I stop pouring, turn the crank which will seal the funnel and prevent the vials from overflowing. Each pinkie-length vial was worth over a hundred dollars and the last time I'd spilled some of Della's precious 'liquid money,' she almost busted my lip.
Slow and steady wins you the race, or in my case, prevents fists from colliding with your face.
"You're getting good at this."
David sits on a barstool along the far wall, glasses slipped over his eyes as he counts the right amount of Monday Blues out to make the rest of this week's supply.
David's low and off-key humming tears me away from my thoughts. I tap the glass of the nearest vial, watching as it expels the last of the steam. Once the bubbles disappear, I'd be able to start stoppering and get them packaged for transit.
"These'll be ready in thirty." I look over my shoulder at David, where he spins to meet my gaze.
"Thirty? That was fast." He glances up at the clock projected overhead. "Didn't it take you forty-five on the last batch?"
I grin, and begin to remove my powder blue gloves, one finger at a time. "As you said, I'm getting better."
He smiles.
David's eyes flit back to the clock. He waves at it, swipes the air in front of his face left. The holographic eye locks on to his movement and switches to an outside view of the HQ's back entrance.
"They should be back," he says, tossing his gloves on the table.
I lace my fingers together and bite down on my lower lip. I'd been trying not to think of the meeting going on between the Codas and El Accosta. "Della doesn't strike me as a diplomatic sort." I heave a sigh. "You think she'll manage a treaty?"
David shrugs. "Maybe, but not before adding to the body count."
I frown. "That's what I'm worried about. If she makes things worse than the runs could be--"
David gets up from his stool, strides across the room, and plants his hand on my shoulder. "They'll be fine. Mid-sector muling hasn't put any of them in danger."
Despite the way David's warmth coaxes heat to the underside of my skin, I peel his fingers off me. "Yet," I say. "It could."
I nudge him aside.
"Where are you going?"
"I thought I'd grab a snack from upstairs."
"More potatoes and gravy?"
I shrug. "I've gotten used to the stuff. The way it coats my stomach and weighs me down like a ton of bricks - call me a masochist - but I've come to tolerate it." As I reach for the doorknob, I glance back, "Much like I've come to tolerate you."
David snorts and flashes me that toothy grin of his. "You're relentless, Pearce." My stomach twists into knots. Third time this week he's called me that. My face ignites. I'll never get used to hearing him say it.
As though the doorknob has gone on the offensive, sensing my desire for it to turn and open, it does just that. Red-haired Ellie stares up at me, a tray of coffee held out, coils of steam wafting upward. The air immediately becomes scented with bitter bean, and my stomach can't help but gurgle.
I narrow my gaze. "Didn't Della take most of the Collective to the meet? Why'd she leave you behind?"
Ellie kicks the door wide open and blows past me to set the tray on the nearest table. Without looking at me, she says, "I was commanded to watch over you two."
I eye David. He gives me a look that clearly states he had no idea about this.
"So you're okay delivering coffee to us?" I eye one of the mugs, and then Ellie, "Della's demoted you to waitress, and you, of all people," I slap my chest in mock Codas salute, something I'd seen Ellie do countless times before. She frowns. "And you're okay with it?" I pick up the mug, inhale the scent. "I highly doubt that."
I raise my mug to David. He gives me a slight nod, so I take the other mug and hand it to him. When he takes it from me, he makes sure to graze the tips of my fingers with his own. Clever, coy and cruel. That was David alright.
"Guys?" Ellie clears her throat.
We turn to find her pointing to the corner of the room. My heart seizes. I exhale. A red light flashes on the holographic screen as the image of outside flickers before going completely black. A loud beeping sounds from the speaker. I glance at David, then at Ellie whose mouth has flopped to the floor.
"A National Broadcast?" I ask.
David casts aside all pretense and grabs my hand, his gaze focused on the alarm."That's only for--"
"--Emergencies." The word falls breathlessly from my lips.
The screeching beeps eliciting from the overhead speaker fades as a new image comes into focus. My eyes lock onto the narrow, critical gaze of Councilman Dove, flanked by his equals. Dressing according to the occasion, each Councilor wears their official robes - sleeved gowns of ivory that trail to the floor. They mimic the robes we'd seen the Councilors wear on Graduation Day, though these are far more expensive, embellished with gold trim on the cuffs and along the hem.
As Dove is Lead Councilor, he has an added bit of flair to his appearance, matching his status: twining silver braids hang around his neck and trail over his shoulders and chest. I'd like to knot them into a noose and pull them tight.
One by one they exit the camera's view to reappear seconds later, seated behind the Law table, on their high-backed chairs of gilded gold and lacquered mahogany, their opulence fueled by citizen wages.
The camera pans in close, settling on Dove's face. It's stern, but not unkind. His eyes well with forced sincerity. He steeples his hands together, rests his chin on them, and as he looks into the camera, a single tear cascade over his cheek.
He must have taken a prescript before the broadcast, one that roused empathy to his surface. If I hadn't been privy to the tricks of the trade, his performance would have fooled me.
"Today," his voice trembles. He wipes his cheek, looking despondently at the camera. "Today, the FUA has come under attack." His compatriots gasp in tandem. Dove shakes his head. "Yes, I know. I know. Such is unthinkable, but we, as a nation, must realize that not everyone agrees with our ideology. They are scared by us, by our strength, our Truth, and wish to see it destroyed."
. "Neon Brights, Our premier East Coast Aviary, the fashion hub of the world, today, at 08:25 was a target of one such attack. And despite our best efforts, the plan could not be thwarted," Dove sighs, looking straight at the camera. "Three bombs were detonated in Sector 4b before evacuation preparations could be made. I'm afraid, the sector is in ruins. My personal police are overseeing rescue operations. It is this Law's - my - top priority to assist the citizens of 4b first and foremost. We will find the survivors and that is my Truth."
I gasp. Ellie stumbles backward. David squeezes my hand.
"4b?" Ellie's lip quivers as she repeats the word. "4b. 4b. 4b. That's where the others are..." She balls her hands together and stares at them.
I know what she's thinking because it's the only thing she can be thinking. What the hell happened at the meeting? Had this been another El Accosta attack? Or had this been Della's way of seeking out revenge?
...
After news of the explosion, Ellie, David and I make for the upstairs gathering room. Clearing off a seat, I settle into a chair, place the dot on my temple, and connect to the Aviary Network. David's fingers wrap around my hand as a way of reminding me I wasn't alone in all of this. I appreciate this kindness, though I'd never give him the smug satisfaction of voicing my gratitude.
Almost as quick as the visor forms over my eyes, presenting me with the A-Net home screen, I'm bombarded by images of Sector 4b's destruction. A crater the size of Homestead One appears in concrete, laying bare the metallic plate underneath. Flames dance around the absence where once a building once stood, where inside, Della and the Collective had been meeting with the El Accosta to negotiate an armistice. Smoke slithers into the air. There was no way anyone survived the blast at point-blank range.
"Hey." I shake David's shoulder. "Hey." I spear him in the ribs with my forefinger. This coerces a pained grumble from his lips. I sit back, watching as he reaches up and peels the dot from his temple. Normally, I'd relish in having disturbed him, but today I wasn't in a joking mood.
"What's gotten into you?" he asks, rubbing at his eyes.
"You think Della set off the explosion?" I fiddle with the edge of my shirt as I study David's expression. Impassive as ever. I sigh.
David turns to me, frowning. "You need to relax." He extends his arm, his fingers grazing the curve of my elbow before he latches on and pulls me into him. "We won't know anything until they return." His voice comes from above in a slow, almost drowsy cadence. Pulling away from me, he motions at the chair opposite us. "If you keep this up, you'll end up like her."
I grimace. Ellie looked deathly pale and seemed to be losing more color by the minute. Even her hair - a blazing, natural red - seemed to have dimmed to a tarnished copper. She claws at the chair, square nails plucking and squeezing at the mauve fabric, while her mouth cycled through a series of snarls.
"Well-" I turn back toward David, arms crossed. "What am I supposed to do? If Della's dead," I heave a sigh, "they'll kill us."
David shrugs. "Della seems hard to kill," he pinches my side and I yelp in surprise. Ellie shifts, her teeth grating reminiscent of rusted gears grinding together. Chuckling, David continues, "You saw the pics. The Sector was leveled. If any Codases manage to come back here, they'll have more to worry about than us."
I click my tongue. "We're fugitives. Highly wanted," I press my finger into his chest. "By the Law. They could turn us in, beg for a Law pardon. Broker a deal to go back to muling Elysium for them. Christ-" I wipe the bangs from my eyes. "There's so many ways things could go to shit if Della's dead."
"And," he pats my head as though consoling a child. I smack his hand away. "There's just as many ways we could be fucked with Della alive and kicking." Leaning forward, he adds, "So stop worrying. Consider yourself screwed either way and then prepare for that inevitability."
I scoff. "Ever the optimist. Just like Sin."
David shrugs. "Have to be that sometimes."
I tsk and place my hand on his chest, fully intending to shove him away when Ellie slams her feet on the floor.
"What's wrong?"
She rips the dot from her temple, tossing it onto the chair cushion as she bolts toward kitchen. David and I remain seated, glued to the spot by a mutual confused daze, though we manage to exchange a few glances.
"Ellie," I call, leaning past David to get a better view of the kitchen. The plastic door swings on its hinges. "What's going on?"
Seconds stretch on like minutes, passing with the urgency of molasses poured from a jar, until Ellie pokes her head through the door, a grin splitting her face in two. "They're alive and on their way back." She blinks, her eyelashes fluttering as they keep the tears from falling.
My heartbeat kicks into overdrive. They're alive. They - multiple. Multiple Codases had survived and were on their way. I ball my hands into fists and bite the inside of my cheek. Could Della and Keran be among them? I inhale through clenched teeth.
I shake my head and as I reach for the door, one of the flaps swings open.
I freeze, hand outstretched and clasping at air, as Ellie reemerges, Della slung over her shoulder. The Codas commander takes a slow breath, wincing as her chest expands. One of her arms hugs her stomach, where a large hole in her shirt reveals a deep slash wound. Even with Ellie's help, Della struggles to keep upright, her gait uneven as she drags her left leg behind her right.
Keran staggers in next, alongside three Codases I don't recognize. They beeline for the couch, their gazes hollow and expressionless.
Keran focuses her sights on Della, despite the fact half her face is covered in blood.
"Over there."
Della's voice cracks under the weight of her weariness as she instructs Ellie to set her down on a nearby sofa. Keran limps after them, her shirt ripped to hell, her exposed skin covered in tiny cuts and red splotches. A mix of sweat and dirt mats her hair to her forehead and neck. Her face twists into a snarl as Della slips off Ellie's shoulder and onto the couch.
"Hey." I tap Keran on the shoulder. Before I know what' happening, my hand's lifting off Keran's shoulder, my arm being twisted behind my back.
I wince, and stumble forward. Keran lets me go and I fall onto my hands and knees. "Christ! What the hell--"
"Shut up." Keran's words are laced with frost, so much so, they cause me to shudder. Keran steps right past me, her gaze zeroing in on Della's arm.
As I glimpse the blue sparks flying above Della's robotic prosthetic, everything clicks. The tension in the room. Keran's rage. She knew about Della's arm and the fact she'd been lied to. I grit my teeth. We'd avoided one explosion long enough to walk right into the middle of another.
"I told you," Della says, hefting the broken arm onto the armrest. Flesh dangles from the forefinger, jumping in time to each finger spasm. "It's not a big deal."
Keran slams her boot into the sofa, causing Della to rock forward. "It is a big deal! You lied to me!" She turns on her heel and slaps her hands on her thighs. "Since when?"
Della doesn't break the silence that's fallen over the room. I get the feeling she'd rather be suffocated inside it than reveal to Keran the truth. Keran's hands clench into fists. Ellie's gaze darts between the two. I get to my feet.
All the rage seems to have drained from Keran. She withers a little, on the spot, as the silence thickens. Her shoulders slump forward and she sighs. "You could have told me, Dells."
"I don't have to tell you anything, Lieutenant."
Keran's eyes bulge at the words. Her hands fall to her side. I've never seen her look quite as defeated. "You're right." She digs the toe of her boot into the floor. "You're always right."
"Of course I am," Della plucks at one of the exposed wires in her arm.
Keran points toward the hand. "I could take a look if--" Della raises her head and scowls. The look alone is enough to beat back whatever Keran's next words might have been.
"I don't need you."
Keran flinches, the corners of her mouth tugged downward. She presses her fists into her legs and gives a rigid nod.
Della waves her away. "Go get cleaned up. You injured your leg, didn't you?"
Keran inhales sharply. "No worse for wear than the rest of us."
"That's an order, Lieutenant." Della leans forward. "Don't make me repeat myself."
Keran straightens, clicks her boots together and thrusts a fist into her chest. "Understood."
"Ellie," Ellie stiffens at the sound of her name. "tend to the others and anyone else you find that can stand, have them assist."
Ellie salutes, but her perfect soldier facade cracks as she watches Keran inch toward the downstairs, her fist slipping from its position over her heart.
"One-zero." I blink. Della motions me over. "Let's go." She extends her good arm and wave at me. "Come on," she groans as she shifts in the chair.
Like an idiot, I point at myself.
Della shakes her head. "Really? Yes, you. Come on and help me. I can't get all this shit off me one-handed."
My head swivels back toward the stairwell leading to the bunks. "But Keran--"
"Not in the mood for banter." She casts me a look as penetrating as a sword to the chest. I swallow my rebuttal and move toward her. "Upstairs," she huffs. I take her arm and lift her off the couch. She winces and clasps her side. A bead of sweat runs down her forehead. "Third door on the left."