The fourth morning began with a working blower and a full breakfast.
Iven took both as good news.
At the clinic, Rysa’s relief showed him the overnight demand. Six had held its speed. The upper treatment enclosure remained in use. Two patients would be ready for their assigned movement after the next clinical round; no one had written that expectation as a release of the machine before they actually left.
His charging turn followed the demand check.
The bank had been replenished from its assigned output during the night, within the limit that kept it separate from the blower’s heavier draw. The clerk checked his reserve, found one hundred and ten usable charges and set the transfer for forty. Five minutes at eight a minute, less than the rig could safely carry and exactly what the bank’s current allocation allowed him.
He sat with the coupling on his left arm and drank the water she put beside him.
Sleep had cleared the night’s tiredness. Food and rest had returned a real part of his expenditure. The rig supplied the rest. When she disconnected him, all one hundred and fifty charges sat within the reserve he knew, neither a new gift nor something the next officer could revoke.
