Mira found me outside the theory room and asked whether I remembered a basket. I had spent the lesson trying to remember three different return paths. A basket sounded pleasant.
"Empty," she added. "Carried through the lower stores side door. When the lift stopped."
"I remember moving out of its way."
"Would you tell the receiving clerk that?"
"Has the basket become important?"
She held up a sheet with two lines crossed out.
"The time has."
My recovery check had allowed light writing and ordinary walking, with the hand supported when it began to pull. It had not given me a useful excuse to avoid another desk. I followed her down the stairs.
The lift was working again. That should have finished the problem. Below it, three small crates waited beside a cart with one wheel raised on a wooden block. The porter from the clinic delivery stood with a stores assistant. The crewman with the troublesome knee crouched beside the wheel. Neither appeared pleased to see more paper arrive.
