Luo examined the ceramic tag under a lamp in the survey tent. He held it at the edge with a pair of wooden tongs so the dust around the stamped number stayed in place.
“The date is two years old,” he said. “This number looks like a maintenance shift code, not a candidate record.”
Qiao sat on a stool with his arm held close. “I didn’t see a warning before the panel closed. There was a light, then the hum, and then I was stuck.”
“Do you want to continue in the examination?” Luo asked.
Qiao looked toward the gate. “Yes. But I want to see the route first. I don’t want to go through another door blind.”
“That is reasonable,” Luo said. “You can remain in the candidate group and stay outside any maintenance route until it is mapped.”
Qinghe checked Qiao’s shoulder where the panel had caught his sleeve. The skin had darkened into a bruise, but the joint was in place. She pressed around it gently and asked him to move his fingers.
“Does that hurt?”
