HMS Valediction

Chapter 3.2

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.