Olan was waiting outside the clinic with a folder under his coat.
Iven saw him after the morning equipment review. The charging clerk had measured the reserve restored by food and sleep, supplied the four charges still missing from his assigned bank turn and sent him out with the familiar full one hundred and fifty. No urgent fight had chosen the morning for him yet.
The lanes had opened at three forty. The relief approaches were working. Somewhere below, the recovery crews were beginning the second day’s duty.
Olan held the folder with both hands.
“I need you to read something.”
“Here?”
“Somewhere we can sit.”
Iven took him to the small side room beside the clinical records desk. Its door stayed open. A clerk worked in the next room, close enough to be asked to witness something if a witness became necessary.
