Torel no longer wrapped his wrist before every task.
He still wrapped it for some. When Mara came to the inspection bench on the four hundred and ninety-ninth day, the cloth lay beside his cup while he checked a row of replacement gauge collars with his right hand. His left steadied the tray without taking the twisting strain that had troubled him on the line.
The clinical review had kept that restriction and recorded a modest improvement. It had not declared him cured because the station needed another pair of hands.
The keeper had offered him the existing inspection vacancy at its ordinary rate, with paid familiarization and the working limit attached. Torel had accepted after speaking to his chosen representative. Seventeen of the twenty authorized cover shifts had been used. The remaining allocation was released back to the injury-support account as the transfer took effect.
Mara read the completed entry only after Torel showed it to her.
“Better?” she asked.
“This work? Yes.”
“And the wrist?”
