The Low Lantern lay against her working landing with the white medical bar covered.
No patients waited aboard. Otha had hired the morning’s carrying elsewhere and posted the change at both ends before dawn. The deck held test weights, drinking water, Bedor’s tools and six people whose names appeared beside the repair trial. The guards at the protected posts knew which boat was moving and why.
Iven stood beside the opened engine casing while Garrik read the isolation marks aloud.
“Fuel shut. Starting lever pinned. Test return open. Cold bank drained.”
Bedor checked each one after him. Not because Garrik had become untrustworthy overnight, but because this was the first time the young deckhand had led the sequence on a panel that would shortly carry hot water beneath pressure.
Otha watched from the aisle. Her engine log rested under one hand.
“Proceed.”
The repaired bank came aboard in a padded carrying frame. Its copper fins caught the morning light, narrow bright lines behind the removable guard. The finished thing looked lighter than the failed assembly they had taken out. Its weight lay in the base plate, sound joints and adequate mounting feet rather than the heavy protective cover that had hidden too much of the old heat.
