The central plaza of Rust-Water Basin was less of a civic square and more of a floating raft of sunken barges, bound together by rusty mooring chains and covered in layers of coarse hemlock planking.
The lead hauler of the Iron Ark rolled onto the timber decking. Then, the heavy iron floats beneath the barges groaned in protest, shifted weight waves washing oily green foam over the lower boardwalks.
“Get those triage crates onto the dry decking!” Arthur Vance shouted, his voice cutting through the hiss of escaping steam from the transport’s cooling valves. “Dr. Calder, prioritize the children under ten and the working beasts with chest stridor. Toby, secure the clean water tanks under armed watch. No one drinks from the local pool. Not a single drop.”
“Understood, Boss!” Toby scurried toward the second trailer, brandishing his brass-bound ledger like an officer’s baton. “Kira, get two guards on the aft pump! If anyone touches our treated water without a medical chit, inform them that every gallon costs forty-two copper bits and my personal wrath!”
Dr. Morrigan Calder jumped down from the ambulance wagon, her floor-length ivory lab coat already streaked with grease and swamp mud. Her hair was bound in its customary chaotic knot, held fast by two silver-steel stirring rods. She strapped a brass centrifuge kit to her hip. Her violet eyes were wide with intense, cold and exact focus as she took in the scene before them.
