The soldiers came for the tools while Dessa was wrapping the contact pieces.
Iven heard the workshop door strike its stop from the lane. He had come back from the Sill carrying the last clean recovery acknowledgments. In the pocket below them lay Vale’s room key, lent to him so he could shave the door when the urgent work was over.
Inside, a woman said, “That stays on the bench.”
Dessa’s voice.
He set the acknowledgments in the messenger’s wall box and went through the open door.
Three soldiers stood between the cutting bench and the stair. Two carried short staves. The third wore a heavy leather apron over his uniform and had one hand on a small lifting frame. A wheeled case stood behind him. Its lid was already open.
Neri was not there. She had gone with Sera to prepare the morning clinical trays. Two fitters stood against the far wall, their hands empty. Dessa held the wrapped contact pieces against her chest.
“Put those in the case,” the man in the apron said.
