The transport unit’s destination was still written on the dispatch board when Rook changed it.
A clerk had drawn a line from the southern vehicle yard to an outer district shelter. Beside it were the promised loading interval, the shelter’s contact and the notation that several passengers needed help boarding. The unit included two passenger vehicles, their drivers and a protection team. It had been assembled for the street approach the shelter could actually use.
Rook stood at the opposite end of the room, reading a report about a gate core. The transit station rescue had put dust on the shoulders of his coat. A camera crew waited outside for another statement, and two local officials had sent thanks through his staff. Neither gratitude nor the camera showed on his face as he turned the report over.
“Move the evacuation unit to the core perimeter,” he said.
The clerk, Mara Venn, looked at the board before answering. She had worked dispatch through enough emergencies to know that a spoken destination could become an accomplished departure while someone was still asking what it meant.
“The outer shelter unit?”
“Yes. They have protection and vehicles. They can establish an immediate cordon.”
“Passenger vehicles as well?”
