Veyr had put a table across the extraction rail.
A drawing lay on it, held flat by a pistol and a brass weight. Behind the table stood the boring frame from the sealed store. Its cutting head was still wrapped. Two rail fitters waited beside the base with their tool bags on the ground.
One was a narrow woman in a patched green waistcoat. She held an open spanner loosely by her thigh. The other, an older man with white hair flattened by a cap, had taken his spectacles off and put them in his breast pocket.
Neither had moved the frame onto the rail.
Iven stopped at the yard entrance.
Jora stood to his left with six soldiers. Her sergeant was speaking quietly to the last of them. Across the rail, another detachment had formed beneath the provincial standard. Their weapons were already in their hands.
Veyr looked up from the drawing.
“Where is the operator?”
