Tavin called the witness marks one last time.
He had called them first on the bench, the morning the first frame went up. He had called them at every module, every seam, every support. He would call them now, and then never again on this heart.
He did it from the seam record, standing at the rack with the grease pencil, joint by joint. Every flange on the manifold that had been locked with a witness mark since the first module’s frame went up. Every support. Every seam. Every catch on the gantry, which held nothing now. He read each one’s number from the record, and the crew that had made it answered.
“Support one,” Tavin said.
His voice was hoarse. He cleared his throat and went on.
Doss had made it. Doss was at the water lines with Sen.
“Mark one,” Doss said.
Nothing more. He did not say seated or still there. He said his mark.
