The Law and the Codas

Chapter Twenty-Nine

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.