The Law and the Codas

Chapter Sixteen

"One-zero, taking up the rear as usual."

Della strides up to me with all the confidence being the leader of a terrorist outfit has afforded her. Her steps are slow, casual to an outsider observer, but thoughtful, each weighted by precision and purpose.

She sees the prize, or in my case, the enemy, and barrels toward them, obstacles be damned. She did have enough explosives hanging off her to implode a government Facility, so she could damn well annihilate a side street if she deemed it a necessary risk.

Sin's silhouette disappears with the others around a bend and I wish his words would disappear too. But they'll never leave me, not until I have my answers. If he knew anything about November, I owed it to her to find out. She'd been one of us.

"Taking in the sights?" Della's head cranes plateward, and then at the Twins who've stepped away from the V-cafe, faces as pink as the neons overhead. They scurry away like shamed children, tails tucked between their legs. Della shrugs. "I guess if you haven't seen it a million times it might look pretty interesting."

Remembering that I had working legs and was capable enough to get away from Della, I brush past her, but the Commander's reflexes are impressive, and her grip like that of tempered steel. Before I can take another step, her hand clamps around my forearm. "Hold up. I need to talk to you, leader to leader."

I snort and contort my arm, but there was no escaping the vice gripe she'd implemented to keep me in place. "Leader of what?" I tap my feet against the pavement, to make sure she's aware of my irritation.

Della nods toward the twins, Jonathan and Mars, Sin, and David "Them," Della says.

I shake my head. "I'm not their leader."

Della frowns and releases me. Her brow creases as she takes a protracted sigh and rubs her temples. "They listen to you, which is more than what some leaders can rally from their troops. Regardless of what you may think, they value your opinion."

"So?" I stamp my foot as, out of the corner of my eye, I see Keran directing the few Codas into a dumpster littered off-street. David and the others follow, getting engulfed by darkness out of place in such a brightly lit place. My pulse quickens. Being pulled into a dark, underpopulated area never spoke of good news for anyone. "Even if that's the truth," I glance back at Della, then at her hand around my wrist, and wrench my arm free. "Which I'm not saying it is, what do you want--"

The emboldened white dove, the crest of our country, flies into my view. It's frozen in mid-flight, on a canvas of plated white. Grenade pins wreath it in deadly ornamentation. My breath hitches. Della's fingers close around my arm only this time they're trembling with an urgency that extinguishes any words of protest. She pulls me into a side street, where the glow of the overhead neons dies out, where the fingers of artificial light can't reach for us.

Two Dove Militia march past us, visors slid over their eyes, an eerie blue tainting grizzled features - harsh, scarred jaws, sharp cheeks, and ever-worsening frowns. They hold guns snug against their chests.

A pair of Militia out on patrol in a grounded sector could only mean one thing.

Della's halfway through mouthing the word, 'shit,' when I turn to ask her a question I'd rather take to my grave.

"Is it--"

Della hunkers behind a trash can, her boots resting in a puddle of city sludge that hasn't quite oozed its way toward the grate a few feet away. "Shit," she says again. She reaches into her pocket and pulls out a dot similar to the one the leering oaf had when he'd crashed into me. She places it on her temple, and a holographic visor forms over her eyes. "Keran, over," she says. My gaze returns to the other alley, where presumably Keran, the Codas, and the others are. "Keran, update. Over."

There's a crackle of static before Keran's voice breaks over the silence. "We're fine. Looks like reconnaissance. Over."

Della's hand balls into a fist that she slams into her thigh. "How many? Over."

"Three groups of Scouters, probably more at the points. Over."

Della's mouth goes hard. She extends her hand, balls it into a fist again. Her lips barely part as she says, "Proceed as planned. Over."

There's more silence, then Keran's voice comes again, though this time there's a quiver to her tone. "Commander," she says. "You sure? Over."

Della snorts. "We've got no choice. Let's hope that bastard knows his chips or we're all fucked. Over and out." There's a click and then Della rips the dot from her temple and throws it on the ground.

I bend over and pick it up. "Seems like this might be useful." I toss it into her lap. Della snarls but if anything, it's got half the sting of what I'd expect from her. A bead of sweat trickles over my forehead.

"Scouts." Rubbing the back of my neck, Izzer's chip shifts slightly at my touch. I mull over the information shared between Della and Keran. Scouting pairs. In the lower sector. At this time of day. Bolstered forces at chip points. I grimace. "So they know we're here."

Della shakes her head. "Not exactly. They have an inkling, which is equally dangerous."

"And could leave you all equally fucked?" I ask.

Della gets up and brushes a few pieces of trash off her jeans. "Let's get a move on." She takes a step into the light.

I shake my head. "We're just going to walk past them and hope they don't recognize us? Our faces are probably plastered all over the Network, have been blown up and attached to every missive, every memo out there. They'll see us, Della."

Her frown worsens. "We don't have a choice." She shifts and her boot gives a little squelch. She's left muddy footprints behind, from the sludge she'd stepped in earlier. My gaze flickers from the sludge puddle to the grate where it should have been collected and flushed toward a recycling and renewing facility underground.

"Commander," I say slowly, taking one step toward the grate. An image of November rushes to my mind. She'd liked the strong and silent types. "Do you have any grenades of the quiet variety on you?"

Della skulks back into the alley. "We've got some." She raises an eyebrow. "They're not very powerful."

"Don't have to be." My fingers graze the horizontal bars of the grate. Della's expression goes wide as she the fire of realization catches in her eyes.

She grins. "Should be easy enough to pop this lid," she says. "Not bad one-zero." She places the dot back on her temple with a renewed energy. "Keran," she says. "Change of plans. Over."

"Wh-what? What change? Over."

Smiling, I take the opportunity to speak. Hearing my voice right about now, ought to be the cherry on top of the hatred sundae Keran's being scooping ever since she met me. "Us thrive in the dark," I say. "maybe it's time for the Collective to adapt."

The channel crackles as if responding in Keran's place.

"You heard her," Della says. "We're sticking to the dark. Over."