I get nothing.
Elbows on metal table, naked pendant bulb draping angular shadows over the cramped, sheet-metal interrogation room, fingers poised at temples and massaging rigorously, I ask again.
"So you've heard of Crust, but you've never seen it?"
The woman of forty with short-cropped black hair shakes her head again in fear. Her twin had the exact same reaction. A fearful pudgy look that spoke of immense terror. They sat with their backs straight, their sweaty palms down on the table, their eyes imploring, their lips slightly agape in astonishment. They couldn't believe they were the prime suspects as Crust Cookers.
"I swear, Commander. Pete and I don't even drink. What would we do with the stuff? We've both dedicated our lives to the Hand. We're clergy. We can't touch inebriates."
"What do you think your brother is saying in the room next door?"
"The same thing! We both took a vow of Purity. Nothing sinful will ever touch our bodies so long as we are covered by Her Hand."
I give Coodi a quick glance. She returns it and we know one thing immediately: She's telling the truth.
Sure, she's nervous. Her brow is shiny with anxious sweat, her eyes shift between the two of us and then back to the ceiling where she searches for words to assist her explanation. All the typical signs of guilt seem to be surface-level on her face, but Coodi and I know she's innocent.
While her upper body jostles with nerves, her feet remain flat on the ground. There has been little fidgeting, but she makes direct eye contact. Her hands rest flat on the table before her and not clasped together. She's telling us the truth.
Sandy and Pete Rhinehold, two middle-aged nobodies, are both avid Heapists. Brother Roy was all a fluffle when I escorted the two of them out of the chapel during evening prayer service.
The Burt twins, two identical, heavier, younger women of about 24, burst into hysterical tears immediately when Umpire escorted them to the back room for questioning. The other two sets came in, answered the questions quietly and without incident, and were immediately proved ignorant of any goings-on with Crust.
"Thanks for your time, Sandy. We appreciate your cooperation."
She wipes her hands on her gray pants and rises to leave. Stopping at the door, she turns. "I hope you find them, Commander. The ones who are cooking this stuff. Or making it or whatever. We don't need more obstacles on this trip."
"You're preaching to the choir, Sister," I say, not bothering to look at her as she makes her quick exit.
As Sandy departs, McCroy slides into the room behind her. "Commander, we have the last one."
"Excellent. Go ahead." I wave him away while massaging the pain from my temples. The small room in the various hues of rust entraps me in a sweltering box. My skin pricks from the heat my uniform won't release. I pull at the collar to tempt a thin strand of cooler air to caress my neck.
"I think you'll want to do this one yourself."
When I lift my head, McCroy is smiling, beaming and pleased with himself. Levi McCroy is the youngest VIPER. It doesn't take much for him to be proud of his work. I wonder if my son will show his full range of emotions on his sleeve as this kid does. A weird urge to ruffle his mop of brown hair overtakes my hand. What the hell is wrong with me?
"This better be good," I say, half teasing, my heavy mood lifting already.
In the next room, where I remember dumping Pete only about two hours ago, sits the female version of a very familiar face. Her brown, wavy hair is longer and wilder than his. Their high rounded cheeks, small eyes, and long lashes are the same. Their noses both flare with nostrils disproportionately large for the tip. If only I knew what his eyes looked like before they went black, I'm sure they'd be the same as well.
I stare, astounded. My headache charges back, drowning my better mood. "Martin Clemmens. That first kid from Ground Zero? The one that choked out the girl before launch, wasting my time and stopping me from sending out a messa--" My words die in my mouth. Clamp it up. No one wants to hear about your unsent love letters. "He has a twin? Why wasn't this the first person we brought in for questioning, McCroy?"
"We didn't know. Martin and Cassie were separated, given different names, educations, living quarters, and upbringings with their separate parents."
I was never given "separate" as an option. But it's ridiculous to think about that world now. "Has anyone started processing her yet?"
Umpire approaches behind McCroy. "No way, Reaper Boss. We thought we'd save the big fish for you."
The girl hunches over the table, her arms crossed, her head resting on her forearms. She lifts when I enter and rolls her eyes to slump back into the original position.
"Cassie Winters?" I confirm as her file appears on my PAHLM.
I can barely hear her muffled reply as it filters past her hair that's streaked like the fine lines of almonds.
Umpire, McCroy, and I wait in silence for nearly a minute. She doesn't respond more than the soft grunt from inside her arms. Part of me wonders if this is her way of hiding her secrets.
"Miss Winters, do you know the whereabouts of your brother, Martin?"
She doesn't respond.
We wait in the hum of the room's vents that cradle us in our anticipation. The normally silent ship is the only one that speaks.
"Miss Winters, are you deaf?"
Nothing.
"Would you like to join your friends down in the brig? I think we've got enough space for one—"
"I don't know anything about that shit he took. I don't even know why I'm here." The muffled words echo from within the enclosure of her arms. The harsh pendant light shines bright, exposing expanses of scalp under her nutty hair.
"You're here because your brother almost killed a girl while he was high. He hasn't come down yet."
She shifts but doesn't lift her head.
"Do you know what it is?"
"They call it . . ." The word trails off and dissolves somewhere on the table between us.
My patience thins. "Louder, Winters. Neither of us is going to be happy if I have to walk over there and pick your head up for you."
Her eyes are a dull brown, but they pierce me with a fierce glare. "It's called Rind. You guys keep spreading this," she throws her hands up in mock quotes; "Crust' name around, but it's not that at all. It's called Rind."
Umpire catches my glance as he steps in just a little closer to the table.
"Sorry, we didn't know. No one really gave us the details before they started snorting it and fucking up my cruise."
She shook her head and let out a solemn, mirthless laugh. "You don't have a clue, do you? You have no idea what it is."
"Why don't you tell me?"
She looks to Umpire who is now practically hovering over her. He's prepared in case she tries to run. McCroy steps in front of the door.
"I don't know anything," she says, putting her head back down.
"You obviously know a little. It's called Rind. And that it's not snorted? Did your brother swallow it? Is that why he can't get it to stop flaking off his lips?"
She doesn't move.
"You know, he's getting worse." I drop into the chair across from her and lean back, casually checking my PAHLM while she reflects on this.
"What do you mean?"
"His behavior was erratic when he came in. He's getting worse. Violent. He's forgetting who he is. We'd love to figure out what Rind is so we can start working on some kind of suppressant."
Her eyes reappear between strands of her hair. "You're lying."
"Am I?"
Umpire taps an icon near his thumb and a silent, raised projection materializes in the middle of the table. In the image, Martin writhes in his restraints. All we see is his immense struggle to break free of the straps. His face is distorted in the pixels, opening his jaw wide and making all the right motions for a throat-tearing scream. He struggles, stretching, twisting his body right and left. He rips one arm free, thrashing wildly. The others in the cage scream as he gnaws the remaining straps.
She knits her brow and scowls. I can't tell if it's concern or confusion.
"Why is he screaming?" she asks as the muted loop plays again.
"You tell me."
Now I see it. Disheartened concern—something like this whole thing has been a huge letdown and now she's worried about the repercussions. She sinks into her chair, her lips part while no breath escapes. She sits there for long, dragging minutes, watching the projection play from Umpire's hand.
"We can help him, Miss Winters." I pull forward again, leaning over my elbows to get as close to her as possible. "If you help us figure out what Rind is."
Umpire closes his fist and the projection disappears.
Cassie's bland eyes are glassy with tears collecting around their edges. She's going to do it. Confess, Cassie. Just give it up. What is so precious about this poison that so many are vigorously protecting it with their lives?
Her lips part again. A tear slides down her cheek.
I lean in.
She snaps her jaw shut and averts her gaze to the empty side of the room.
We don't learn any more information. It's almost as if Cassie powers down like her tank has finally run dry. She slumps over, defeated, and silent. She remains in the room all night and when we come back the next morning, she won't even look up.
**A/N**
GUYS.
GUYS GUYS GUYS GUYS. I have news.
*hyperventilating*
I was picked as a mentee in the 2018 PitchWars cohort. If you have no idea what that is, I'm going to chalk it up to an incredible mentor program where two out-of-this-world talented authors take ARC10 and fine-tune it into something that will fly out of my hands, into agent inboxes, and hopefully, onto bookshelves around the world. They love the MS as it is (it's a bit different than what I've posted on Wattpad -- have had to make some tweaks to the details) and are enamored with Janika and the URE (in the only way one can be in love with that evil ditch).
Please keep your fingers crossed for me.
Oh, but hey L, you might ask, what does this mean for HMS VALEDICTION?
Slower updates. I wrote the whole book, but I'm still working on reading it through and editing, so even these updates are taking a lot of time. With increased attention to ARC10 and the tight turn-around deadline for revisions, I may have to find a schedule that works with my divided attention. But it will be posted. One way or another -- HMS VAL will live.
I still can't believe this is real.
Thank you so much for your love, support, and stars. I'm so glad each of you is part of this journey and when ARC10 becomes a real boy, I want you all to share this pride with me. It's you in this draft too -- all your comments, suggestions, elation, and friendship.
Love you all.
❤️L