Mara assigned the branches in pairs.
Not by world. Across worlds. She had the list of branches on the plate, from Eshel’s model: seven main branches off the manifold’s trunk, each feeding a group of outlets. And beside each, she wrote two names. Never two from the same place.
“The reserve-facing branch,” she said. “The one that feeds the shaft reserves and the district stores.” She pointed. “A Tal technician and a Lorn technician.”
On the links, two faces. A Tal shaft technician, a woman with a lamp still strapped to her forehead. A Lorn technician from Nemi’s school crew, a young man who had helped run the coordinated cuts.
“The efficiency branch,” Mara said. “The one that carries the main city lamps.” She pointed again. “A Meridian engineer and a Cinder crew member.”
In the gallery’s chairs: the Meridian engineer from the council, grey-haired, with his folder. On the Cinder link: a woman from Pell’s yard crew, one of the ones who walked the district mains.
“Each pair argues its branch’s limits,” Mara said. “In front of the others. Out loud. Not in a room by yourselves.” She looked round. “If you can’t agree, say why, and the rest of us will hear it.”
