by Nina D'Aleo
The doors behind them swung open again and Croy and Darius turned to see their boss, First Controller Van Prichard, entering. He was second in charge of the entire Martial Corps, answering only to the admiral, who reported directly to the Conference. As John L had once described him, VP was a short man with a big presence. Windscars from his time as a Fleetsman reddened his face, their color clashing with the purple of his cloak. It was trimmed extravagantly in fur, and around his neck he wore the pelt of an albino fox, its head still attached. It gave Croy the shivers, because once the creature would have been beautiful, but now it was a scarf with a dead face and dull eyes, dulled even more in comparison with the sharpness of VP’s predatory stare.
Croy avoided it. Her relationship with her boss had never moved past strange and precarious. It was VP who had convinced the Admiral to allow her to inherit John L’s position as a Controller, even though he was only her adoptive father and not blood. It had effectively saved her life, but it was also VP who had dug up the proof against John L that had seen him charged and sentenced to death. There had been bad blood between them ever since John L had reportedly had an affair with VP’s wife. Nothing had been proven, but Croy wouldn’t have been surprised. John L loved women – all women.
Since her first day on the job, VP had never been anything but professional to her, but Croy couldn’t rule out the possibility that he might be biding his time – keeping his friends close and his enemies closer. She’d witnessed firsthand his profound intellect and chilling patience for exacting revenge. So she kept her mouth shut as much as she could, hoping to fly under his radar. She had a lot to hide and even more to lose.
Behind VP, Controllers Knightsbridge and Newton entered with trainee Kisslefish. The door snapped shut behind them. Kisslefish was jittery as always, bright-eyed and stepping from one foot to the other. He flashed a smile at VP, who looked him over with little interest that immediately drained to none. Instead their boss turned his attention to Knightsbridge and said, “You have a button missing.” He gestured to Knightsbridge’s tortured shirt, which was straining to contain his bulging pectorals.
Knightsbridge put his hand to the affected area and gave an uncomfortable, “Sir.”
“The Quartermaine children,” VP said, now looking to Darius and Croy. “Hiding at the Crematorium, were they?” He had a way of asking everything, even when he already knew the answer. John L had said he’d spent too much time as an interrogator.
“Yes, sir,” was Darius’ curt reply.
“And the Morticians were unaware?”
Darius spoke again. “So they said, though I don’t trust those freaks for one grain-drop.”
“Tricky bunch.” VP shook his head. “Tricky indeed. And we’re thinking the girl is responsible for the Kilner corpse?”
“She was a suicide.” Knightsbridge stepped forward. “Newton and I were first on scene.”
“Yet DeCavisi and Croy attended the Crematorium?” VP questioned.
“Because we hadn’t yet finished our initial assessment,” Knightsbridge replied with some awkwardness. A sheen of sweat slicked his face and there were spreading patches of wet under his arms.
“I see.” VP scratched his chin. “You arrived first and finished second – yes?”
Newton and Knightsbridge glanced at each other, then lowered their heads.
“The Kilner corpse was found in the Filter. Did you see anything else unusual there?” VP eyed Croy in particular and she shook her head.
“Nothing, sir, aside from the ever-shrinking water level,” Newton replied.
“Yes, it’s a concern,” their boss agreed, the lines of his face deepening. “So what’s the connection between these two and the corpse?”
“At this stage, we have reason to believe the Quartermaines at least knew about the body being taken to the Filter,” Darius said.
“How’s that?” VP asked.
“The girl kept ranting about the corpse wanting to go home to the water.”
VP’s eyebrows flickered.
Knightsbridge cleared his throat and said, “The preliminary in-house post-mortem suggested that the stab wound was COD, with the additional injuries inflicted after death. Those symbols appear to be a chemical mathematical equation. On top of that, there were signs of sexual assault.”
“The Morticians. Those freaks,” Darius snarled.
“Not necessarily them,” VP said. “There’s the Quartermaine boy.” He looked over the team. “Who wants to question him?”
“Sir, I will,” Knightsbridge said quickly.
“And the girl?”
Newton stepped forward.
“They should be questioned together,” Croy said, despite herself. After what had happened at the Crematorium she felt as though she needed to control how this went down.
“Really.” VP’s eyes carved her up. “Why is that?”
“The girl is mentally unstable and her brother is her crutch. Together they might talk, but not alone. Look at how they’re sitting.”
VP glanced over at them, then back to Croy with an evaluative stare that made her feel like she was being skinned.
“As you will, then,” VP said to her. “Show us how it’s done, Croy.”
She thought she saw an odd glimmer of pride in his expression, while Knightsbridge silently fumed and Newton stared coldly.
Croy and Darius opened the door to Castor’s cell and entered. With every step needles of pain shot through Croy’s knee, but she hid it, not wanting VP or the others to know. The boy looked up at them, his face taut with anger, eyes wary.
“We’d like you to move into the next room for questioning,” Croy said to him.
“Go up to hell!” Castor snarled.
“Little turd —” Darius made a move toward him, but Croy put a hand up to hold him back. The last thing they needed was Darry beating up a prisoner in front of the boss.
“It’s up to you, Castor. We can question you separately if you like, but I’m not sure your sister’s up to it. Do you really want her smacking her head against the wall until she kills herself?”
Castor’s hostility dissolved and fear welled in his eyes. He stood up and shuffled with chained ankles and wrists to the interconnecting door. Darius opened it and they went through. Kellor tried to hug her brother as soon as she saw him, but her hands were chained. The sight upset Castor.
“Monsters!” he spat at them.
“Sit down.” Darius shoved the boy to the ground and Kellor sank down beside him.
Croy could feel VP’s eyes boring through the glass into her face.
“Castor and Kellor Quartermaine – you’ve been detained by the Martial Corps on suspicion that you interfered with a deceased body. I urge you to cooperate and answer truthfully the question you will be so asked,” she said. “Why were you hiding at the Crematorium?”
“We weren’t hiding,” Castor threw back.
“No – you were just sitting in that freezer for the fun of it,” Darius mocked him.
Kellor started talking. “Hunting – hunting them. They’re there. I can hear their words – their bad words … bad words … bad words … bad … bad …” She started to get hysterical.
Castor dragged her close to him and whispered, “Kell, it’s alright. Calm down. Just calm down. I’m here.”
“Why were you hiding at the Crematorium?” Croy repeated.
“Why do you live where you live?” Castor demanded.
“Cheap rent, low draft, no ash,” Croy lied. The truth was it was where Roth had wanted to live. The place had never quite felt like home to her.
Kellor stopped crying and looked at her – right into her eyes – and said, “I understand.”
Croy felt a flash of disquiet and Darius looked between them.
“There’s no law against living there,” Castor said.
“Actually there is. It’s called trespass – break and enter,” Croy told him. “Listen, really I don’t give a rat’s arse why you were hiding out down
there. We’re not Security. We’re not from the Orphans Home. We’re Controllers – investigating a body that was stolen from the Crematorium, cut up and tied to the pier in the Filter. I know you didn’t kill her, but why did you move her there?”
“We didn’t,” Castor insisted.
“He’s lying,” Darius said, his agitation and frustration rising fast.
Croy squatted down, looking at Castor, fear and hostility staring back at her.
“Your father was charged with treason, but neither of you were charged with anything. For all intents and purposes you’re just victims. So tell us why you did it and I’ll have you housed together. You’ll be safe and your sister will get the medical help she needs. If you don’t cooperate, I’ll have you put in the orphan house and Kellor will be taken to the Waste. She’ll be locked up with screaming crazies on either side of her cage until they try her as incapable and exile her into the tunnels. She won’t last five seconds. You won’t ever see each other again. Mark me on this – I’m not a cruel person, but I understand what cruelty is.”
Kellor started rocking, crying. Croy felt bad, but it had to be done.
Castor struggled, his eyes not shifting, not giving – but then he broke down in tears.
“I don’t know why she did it. I went to get food and when I came back she was gone. I followed her tracks. She’d taken a drifter and that dead girl and gone to the Filter. She tied her there, but she didn’t hurt her. She was already dead!”
“I was helping her,” Kellor said with a sudden clarity that immediately lapsed. “She wanted to go home. They don’t like water. I showed her the way.”
“What is she talking about, them?” Croy asked.
Castor shook his head. “Make-believe monsters – she’s not well.”
“Guy’s a genius,” Darius sneered.
“Sod you!” Castor yelled.
Croy held up a hand to stop them.
“The symbols Kellor scratched into the body?”
“I don’t know,” Castor said, and she could see it was the truth. “It’s some kind of formula. Our father was a scientist. He was always working on equations. She doesn’t have a reason for doing things.”
“Can we have some sweets now?” Kellor said, childlike. “We’ve been so good.”
“Did you sexually assault the body?” Croy asked Castor directly, watching his face for a reaction.
His face registered instant shock and embarrassment. “You think I … No … No, I would never do that.”
“It must have gotten awfully lonely down there,” Darius spoke up. “Taking care of your nutter sister – living with all the corpses. They don’t fight back much. And there’s only so much you can do with your own hand.” He made a crude gesture.
Castor’s face reddened. The notion made him so angry that he couldn’t even spit out his words. It was a naive reaction to the topic. Croy concluded that it wasn’t him.
“What about your sister?” she said. “Could she have done something like that without knowing what she was doing?”
Castor shook his head emphatically. “No! She wouldn’t.”
“But she would carve symbols into someone’s dead flesh and tie them to a jetty?” Darius said.
“For some reason she thought she was helping her … or saving her …” Castor said.
“From the monsters …” Croy murmured to herself, thinking.
“He’s all alone down there now,” Kellor said. “He can’t fight them for much longer. He’s hurt. He needs your help. Can you hear him calling you?”
A prickling feeling spread over Croy’s skin.
“Who is she talking about? Who is all alone down there?”
Castor shook his head wearily. “She’s just talking. It doesn’t mean anything. There was no one there but us.”
“And did you see anything strange?” Croy asked.
The look on Castor’s face said it was the stupidest question he’d ever heard.
Croy rephrased. “Anything out of place – assaults, Morticians mistreating bodies … anything.”
“Nothing,” Castor said.
Croy nodded – if he had, he wasn’t going to talk about it now.
“Your sister said you were hunting …”
“The monsters,” Kellor spoke again. “they’re down there – talking, talking, talking – shhh, don’t tell Daddy – he doesn’t want me listening to them – he tried to stop them …” She lifted up her shirt, exposing her bare stomach and breasts. She had formula-symbol scars all over her body as well. Darius cursed and Castor yanked her shirt down.
“Did your Daddy do that?” Croy asked.
Kellor nodded, tears in her eyes. “I want to go home now, too. They don’t like water … Or we could go up – up to the suns – like Daddy … up …”
“What’s the suns?” Croy asked Castor.
He shook his head again, “Just something she’s made up. She does it all the time.”
Croy nodded. She glanced at Darius, then said to the twins, “That’s all for now.”
She stood, heading for the door, and Castor called out behind them, “What about us?”
Croy turned back. “You’ll stay here for now while the case is processed and then I’ll do what I said. You can stay together.”
Castor put his arm around his now-crying sister and hugged her. Their crazy father had brought them into this world – dumped life on them – then taken himself out of it. Croy had always thought there should be some kind of compulsory psychological testing before people were allowed to breed. Though she was pretty sure if there was, she wouldn’t have much chance of passing it.
They walked out into the observation room where the others were waiting. Trainee Kisslefish gave them a thumbs-up. Knightsbridge glared at him.
Croy gave a summary: “The girl took the body and positioned it, cut it up, but I don’t believe either of them assaulted her.”
“If the girl’s a nutter, then how could she steal and fly a drifter?” Knightsbridge asked.
“Disconnected doesn’t mean incompetent – sometimes they’re even more capable,” VP said.
“We’ll start investigating the abuse angle further,” Darius said. “We’ll go back to the Morticians, and to her family.”
VP scratched his manicured white beard. “No … the father is on the Conference.” Croy caught him darting a glance at Kisslefish. “We can’t question him and we can’t interrogate the Morticians again without a warrant of specific accusation and that won’t happen, so case closed.”
“Case closed?” In questioning VP, Darius did what most would never dare. “So we’re just letting whoever did this off the hook? What if those freaks are using bodies as their sex toys?”
VP shrugged. “They’re dead.”
“What if it was your daughter or wife … or mother?” Darius demanded.
“I said, case closed,” VP repeated, his eyes drilling into Darius. “We all know the parameters of our work.” He turned his attention to Croy and said, “I’m impressed.” And from the way he said it, she wasn’t entirely sure if that was a good or a bad thing.
The door to the room burst open and a Tower warden stumbled in.
“First Controller Prichard,” he said breathlessly. “I have word from Admiral Bower – he requires your immediate presence. The Drays have taken down the Teriscoria.”
A heavy silence fell over the room. They’d all been depending on the ship’s safe return.
VP swore and charged out, leaving them alone with their dread.
PART 2
Chapter 15
Diega
Praterius
Rambeldon Forest (Dallybrush)
They crunched through the thick leaf litter of the forest corridor, stepping in and out of shifting shapes of shade and light filtering through the treetop canopy far above. Mossy vines constricted around the branches of the giant trees. Puffs of pollen-sweetened air stirred the undergrowth and flowers. They seemed to quieten as the travelers appr
oached, whispering again as they passed by. The air was the freshest Diega had ever breathed. It was like a shot of pure mind-clearer straight to the brain. She’d never felt so awake, but had never realized until now that she’d been half-asleep, suffocated by pollutants.
Everything about this place was so natural and uncorrupted – and Diega felt sharply out of context in her heavy boots and fatigues covered in blood and dusty debris, reeking of smoke and sweat. She didn’t belong in any sense. She tried again and again to access her morphing and electrosmith skills, but they were gone, blocked or invalid in this world. She felt naked and on edge without them. Just ahead of her, Shawe didn’t seem to be suffering the same alienation, still moving fast despite his terrible injury.
He was an arrogant thug prick, but there was no way to deny it, Shawe was extraordinarily tough. He’d stopped at nothing to save his brother, gone literally to hell and back, and now Diega saw Shawe going after Copernicus with the same resolve. She hated to be moved by someone so completely foul, but the sight of him gave her strength and spurred her on. Her father had been the opposite – a defeated sort of person at the best of times, and when Ariana had vanished he’d fallen to pieces. Seeing him hunched in his chair sobbing, day and night, refusing to eat or speak or be comforted, just begging the stars to kill him too, had etched away pieces of her sanity. Nothing she had done or said had made any difference; he’d just looked at her as though he’d wished she was the one who had died instead of Ariana. And one day, during one of his hysterical breakdowns, he’d actually said it. His words and the guilt had driven her to run away to the gangland in search of people who were strong the way she wanted to be. She hadn’t understood then that coldness comes with a price.