Read Chapter 5: — FIVE HOURS AT A TIME

The negotiation took most of the day.

The local supervisors did not object to work. They objected to a pattern designed elsewhere and imposed without enough consultation. Some crews were accustomed to very early starts and long midday breaks. Others were contractors from different countries with different rest expectations. The old rotation had treated them as one interchangeable labour pool.

Daniel sat with Samir, site HR and the foremen in a portable office where the air conditioner rattled like an old washing machine.

He did more listening than talking.

By late afternoon they agreed on a five-team rotation: shorter active periods, better heat avoidance, predictable rest days and a fairer distribution of night duties.

When Daniel returned with the signed schedule, Graham read it twice.

“They agreed to all of it?”

“We changed some of it.”

“I gave you a system.”

“You gave me a starting point.”

Graham looked as though he wanted to argue, then gave a single grunt.

For Graham Bennett, Daniel would learn, that was applause.

The second proposal—bringing local engineers into technical coordination—was harder. Graham distrusted any arrangement that seemed to dilute responsibility.

“If it’s my job, I carry it,” he said.

“And if the regulation is local and we misread it?” Daniel replied. “You carry that too.”

Owen sided with Daniel.

Within a week the project recruited several Almarian and expatriate engineers with regional rail experience.

The change was immediate. Permit questions moved faster. Design interpretation improved. Small cultural mistakes were caught before they became arguments.

The engineering also advanced. Wind barriers went in. Rock protection secured vulnerable stretches. Compaction trials became production work.

Toby, meanwhile, discovered that university distinction did not prevent him from making basic field mistakes.

Daniel caught him about to sign off a survey check using a reading he had not independently verified.

“Again,” Daniel said.

“It’s only two millimetres.”

“Again.”

“The tolerance—”

“Again.”

Toby muttered something rude, repeated the measurement and found the instrument had shifted.

The error was thirteen millimetres.

He stared at the number.

Daniel did not lecture him.

He did not need to.

That evening Toby sat beside him in the canteen.

“You knew, didn’t you?”

“I suspected.”

“You could have told me.”

“You’d remember the lecture for a week. You’ll remember thirteen millimetres for the rest of your career.”

Toby considered that.

“Annoyingly good point.”

Across the room Maya was eating alone, cap low, scarf still high despite the heat.

Toby followed Daniel’s gaze.

“Quiet one, isn’t he?”

Daniel shrugged.

Something about Maya’s posture suggested vigilance rather than shyness.

He wondered what the young engineer was guarding.