Evan took another bite of vat grown chicken and chased it with a swallow of the homemade rotgut that the Lunar Liberation Front called synthskey. The high-powered alcohol made him cough, but it burned away the taste of the chicken. Sadly, the meal was still better than the scraps he had eaten while confined to his cell. Across the table Isis sat and watched him eat. When asked if she would eat too she politely declined, saying that she had eaten before their meeting. It might have been a setup of some sort, perhaps they poisoned the food, but Evan really did not care.
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