Rovan opened the demonstration by putting his hand on a warm pipe.
The gesture was simple. The upper exchanger’s gallery was full of councilors, shift delegates, reporters, and workers who had come off duty to see what the argument had become. Behind Rovan, the company cartridge sat in its housing beneath a glass inspection cover. A gauge showed steady pressure. The return line carried hot water toward South Bank.
“This pipe serves eleven hundred rooms,” he said. “The cartridge has been in service for thirty-one days. It will be replaced at the end of the week, before its performance falls below our standard.”
He removed his hand. “The people in those rooms should not lose heat while we debate the source of the treatment material. They should know what the present system does, what an alternative can do, and who will pay for the difference.”
Iven stood beside Mara near the front. Neri was farther back with Rila and Belen, her arms folded. Annet waited near the test bench with Meret and Isel. The small parallel loop had been moved into the gallery for the demonstration, its pipes and gauges arranged so the audience could see both baskets.
Rovan’s statement was true. It was also incomplete. He had selected a working cartridge, a full housing, and a district that depended on it. He had not placed the outpost’s wound on the platform beside the gauge.
