Marit was printing the last cover sheet when Iven arrived.
The little press stood in the one clear corner of the room. Everything else had been packed into shallow boxes: paper, type, the sharp tools with their edges covered, the pieces too easily lost if someone emptied a drawer into a travelling sack. Her household’s departure interval was later that night. The press would follow under its own freight entry when the changed recovery schedule allowed.
She had asked the message runner to find him before she left.
Iven waited until the sheet came clear.
“Hands clean?” she asked.
He showed her.
“Take that edge.”
He helped lay the fresh sheet on the drying board. The heading named the old Sixth Lift pump case. Beneath it were the references for the approval, the recovered test conditions, the nine deaths and the statements already given. The new disaster did not appear on that page.
