“Major Ozpike.” The platoon commander greeted Hilemore with a precise salute as he stepped onto the quayside. “Commander Lossermark Defence and Security Levies.” The major was a South Mandinorian of sturdy build, his clean and pressed uniform contrasting markedly with the appearance of his men.
Hilemore came to attention and returned the salute. “Captain Corrick Hilemore, Ironship Protectorate Vessel Viable Opportunity.” He glanced around at the surrounding buildings, seeing no sign of damage. “Glad to find you in such good order, Major.”
Ozpike blinked and cast a cautious glance at his men, regarding the exchange with a uniformly keen interest.
“So that ain’t the case elsewhere?” one of them asked, a diminutive fellow of Dalcian heritage as were many Eastern Conglomerate sailors.
Hilemore scanned their faces, seeing a great deal of fear and uncertainty. “You truly have no notion of recent events?” he asked Ozpike.
“Only what the Corvies told us,” the Dalcian replied before the major could answer. “Said a great mass of Blues rose from the sea around Carvenport and tore their fleet to pieces. That true, Skipper?”
“Matters for discussion with the Comptroller,” Ozpike barked with a military authority that seemed to carry little weight.
“I got family in Carvenport,” the Dalcian went on. “The mail packet is three weeks late and not a single Blue-hunter’s returned to port in all that time. We got a right to know, Major.”
“And you will,” Ozpike said, forcing what Hilemore judged to be an unaccustomed note of conciliation into his voice. “But the Comptroller needs to speak to this officer first.”
A growl rose from the rest of the platoon and their already loose formation turned into a cluster of angry men, all demanding answers.
“Stand fast!” Hilemore shouted, his voice apparently compelling some vestige of discipline for they all froze as one. Their obedience may also have been informed by the sudden appearance of Steelfine at the Viable’s rail along with the full complement of the ship’s riflemen. Hilemore allowed a few seconds to pass before speaking again, seeing the soldiers’ anger vie with their trepidation.
“Carvenport was overrun by a combined force of drakes and Spoiled over a month ago,” he told them, pausing to allow the shock of his words to sink in. “However, most of the population was successfully evacuated to Feros. Make a list of any loved ones and pass it to my first officer. Our Blood-blessed will trance with his contact in Feros to ascertain if they are amongst the evacuees.”
“Hadlock?” one of the other bondsmen asked, face ashen and eyes pleading. “My wife . . .” He trailed off, seeing Hilemore’s expression.
“I’m sorry,” Hilemore told him. “Hadlock is gone. There were no survivors.”
He turned to Major Ozpike as his men sagged into disconsolate disorder, the widower weeping openly as his comrades made lacklustre efforts to comfort him. “I believe you intended to take me to your Comptroller?”
“This was supposed to be my retirement posting,” Ozpike muttered as he led Hilemore up the steps to the Eastern Conglomerate Headquarters, a spindly three-storey structure that must have dated back to the earliest days of the port’s existence. “Fifteen years in the Ironship Protectorate and the pension wasn’t enough to keep the wife in her accustomed style. You a married man, Captain?”
For the first time in weeks Lewella’s face sprang into Hilemore’s head, as lovely and fascinating as ever. It is with a heavy heart I write these words . . . “No,” he replied. Nor will I ever be.
“Good for you, sir,” Ozpike huffed as they came to the door and made their way inside. “Take my advice and stay that way. After long consideration on the matter, I have concluded that a military career and marriage are fundamentally incompatible.”
The Comptroller’s office was on the top floor of the building, necessitating a climb up several flights of rather rickety stairs. The Comptroller proved to be a Dalcian woman of perhaps forty years in age, possessed of a high-cheekboned, austere attractiveness accentuated by her plain business suit and severely-tied-back hair. “Madame Hakugen,” Major Ozpike greeted her with a short bow. “I present Captain Hilemore of the IPV Viable Opportunity.”
Hilemore stepped forward to offer a bow of his own; Dalcians were notorious for their attachment to formality. He hesitated in mid-bow upon noticing that there was a fourth occupant in the room, an athletic young man in the uniform of the Corvantine Marines. His gloved hand rested on the hilt of a sword but he wore no revolver. The man’s face remained rigidly expressionless as he offered Hilemore a very slight nod.
“Captain,” Madame Hakugen greeted him in perfect Mandinorian. “Welcome to Lossermark.”
“Thank you, madam,” Hilemore replied, tearing his gaze from the Corvantine. “It seems you and I have a great deal to discuss.”
“Yes.” She glanced at the Corvantine. “Forgive my rudeness. Allow me to introduce Lieutenant Myratis Lek Sigoral, acting captain of the INS Superior.”
“Lieutenant,” Hilemore said with a stiff nod, memories of the Strait crowding his mind.
“Captain,” the Corvantine replied in heavily accented Mandinorian, Hilemore noting the stitched scar tracing across his forehead. The scar did much to enhance the man’s authority but Hilemore realised he couldn’t be more than a year or two older than Mr. Talmant. Just a boy, yet he commands a cruiser. What tribulations brought them here, I wonder?
“I had hoped you would see fit to bring your Blood-blessed,” Madame Hakugen said. “As per our agreement.”
“I thought it appropriate to discuss terms first,” Hilemore replied. “Though I must confess my surprise that a port of this size doesn’t contain at least one Blood-blessed.”
“We had two, until recently.” A thin line appeared in her brow. “Our long-serving contract agent sadly expired of a heart attack during a Blue-trance with our Hadlock office. Whatever he witnessed in his final trance appears to have been too much for him. His colleague, a less experienced and even less diligent character, tried to re-establish communication, to no avail. Trances with other Conglomerate offices revealed only ignorance of unfolding events. Sadly our sole remaining Blood-blessed then decided to smuggle himself aboard an outgoing vessel, one of the last to leave port actually, the ECT Endeavour. We know they were intending to make for Dalcian waters. I had hoped you might have news of them.”
“I do,” Hilemore replied, recalling the grisly contents of the life-boat they found shortly before docking at Hadlock. “She didn’t make it.”
“A pity.” Madame Hakugen gave a regretful grimace. “The captain was my cousin.” She permitted herself a small sigh before quickly regaining her composure. “And Hadlock?”
Hilemore related the destruction of Hadlock before going on to describe the loss of both Morsvale and Carvenport.
“It appears your war has been superseded by more pressing matters, gentlemen,” Madame Hakugen observed when he had finished, inclining her head at Lieutenant Sigoral.
The marine maintained his expressionless visage and confined his reply to a short, “Indeed, madam.”