The prisoner told Brin about the second charge because he wanted water.
Brin brought him water first. He had learned, over years of dispatching people through dangerous places, that a thirsty person might say anything to get a cup and nothing useful afterward. He set the cup within reach, waited while the man drank, and then asked what had been attached to the cliff path.
The prisoner was one of Salk’s hired guards, a narrow-faced man named Perren. His wrist had been tied to a chair with a soft strap, loose enough not to stop his circulation. Sera had examined the bruise on his shoulder. Cenn had left him in the lower store with a guard at the door and no promise about when he would be released.
“There was supposed to be a charge on the vent line,” Perren said. “Not to blow the station. To make it stop.”
“Where?” Brin asked.
“Under the upper shelf. Deren sent two people before we brought the wagons in.”
“Names?”
“Rutt and Fenna. I don’t know their other names.”
