The recovery carriage had eight wheels and a pair of hands larger than Iven’s bed.
They hung folded against its front, each one an iron framework with replaceable pads at the grip. Behind them stood a low armored cab, two steam drums and a crane boom laid flat along the chassis. A row of empty mounting holes ran above the cab’s windows.
Iven stopped at the workshop gate.
“What does it recover?”
“Industrial plant,” the forewoman said. “Heavy assemblies. Broken gantries. Things that won’t walk here themselves.”
Her name was Danna. She wore a leather apron over her coat and carried a clipped pencil between her teeth. The carriage belonged to a company recovery works with several clients. Rovan’s transport account was paying for the present refit.
She had told him that before offering the job.
He appreciated the lack of surprise.
