It had been three cycles since the sifter incident. Three-sixteen was still a supervisor. Apparently losing a whole crew wasn’t grounds for termination or demotion, even though Three-sixteen thought it should be. He was haunted by that day, terrified even to blink while he was on duty. He worried that if he did, he’d miss important details and some idiot would try eating crystals, or another beast would appear and slaughter the crew.
Nothing ever came, and each cycle passed by like the last. This batch of fresh faces wasn’t so slow, or maybe Three-sixteen was just better at stressing the rules. In either case there was only one problem child in this round.
Five-ninety-one had a defiant spirit. It was a miracle she even survived childhood. No one looked after kids under six, and few cared what happened to them. Piss off the wrong person, or get too bold in front of a magistrate and death was all but certain. Most learned quickly to stay silent and unseen, but Three-sixteen wasn’t sure Five-ninety-one had ever considered the thought.
She hadn’t raised her pickaxe in an hour. After all her whining over her shaft assignment the previous cycle, Three-sixteen made sure to choose an assignment that addressed all her problems.
She was working with women, no men, especially not old men. Assigned near a vein verified to have crystals, and not just the little ones. He even made sure she had a fast runner to deliver her ores and crystals to the pit stockpile and get back in time for the next run fast enough that Five-ninety-one could just keep working. If she didn’t make production it could only be blamed on her.
Unfortunately, Three-sixteen would be held responsible. It was after all his job to ensure the crew worked like a well oiled machine, changing out crystals that would eventually be shipped out for some high born to eat. Some might even be given to the magistrates. They needed the stat boosts, unlike the miners who just needed to dig and survive.
Three-sixteen wondered why they couldn't just send robots. Surely robots would be better workers. They would be more efficient and they wouldn’t complain or demand breaks, but that was apparently not an option.
He shoved the idea inside his silenced box. He wasn’t paid to think, not unless thought was required to get his crew working or to deal with a bratty little girl that was too good to work.
He took a deep breath as he approached Five-ninety-one.
She saw him coming; he knew because she smiled and touched two fingers to her head giving a playful salute before dropping her hand.
It was cute, but he knew her playfulness was just a show—or, he hoped it was.
“Are you tired?” Three-sixteen asked when he was close enough that he wouldn’t have to yell for her to hear him.
She shook her head and he noted that she hadn’t broken a sweat yet, not even a bead.
Three-sixteen said, “We're having trouble keeping up, so I'm going to assign you to sorting duty.”
Five-ninety-one paled. “In the pit? But you promised I could—”
“And you swore that you’d work. So far all I’ve seen is one cart of loose earth out of this shaft. Not even a single stone. If you want to pick your own shift, and crew, then do your damn job. Grab your tool and get moving or you’ll be in the pit where there are no breaks. If you don’t like that, then you can talk to one of the magistrates about it. I won’t have you drag everyone else down.”
Five-ninety-one glared at him.
She was pretty if you could look past the grimy grey clothes and silt laden hair. Her eyes were fierce and she had a strong jaw. If she’d been born with better stats, she might have had a better life, but no one ever leaves the mines.
Three-sixteen turned away, he’d made his point, and if a cart wasn’t on its way out of the shaft in twenty minutes he’d be back to actually reassign her. He hoped it wouldn’t come to that.
“Don’t you ever…” Five-ninety-one let her voice trail off, but Three-sixteen didn’t like her tone. It was too chipper—no, hopeful. It was the voice of a girl who had a dream.
Three-sixteen spun around and found her holding a crystal in her hand. She gazed at it with desire, her longing as tangible as the rock in her hand.
He knew that look. He recognized it because he’d seen another wear that same expression, and he knew that she had a plan.
“It’s not worth it!” Three-sixteen said firmly. “If they catch you, or if your body can’t handle it… either way, you die.”
Five-ninety-one smiled. It was a confident smile, one that told him she had already considered the risks, and that she believed herself above them.
Three-sixteen clenched his jaw and tried to keep from snapping at her.
“Don’t worry, I like you. I won’t slack anymore, but just tell me honestly. Have you ever considered what you might do if you could get out of these mines?”
The girl was insane. There was no getting out of the mines. They were part of the system, and the system was like a machine, if a single part of that machine failed, it would all fall apart. That was why magistrates were here. Their sole purpose was to ensure miners remained alive and productive, although they weren’t particularly efficient at either.
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Three-sixteen wanted to say as much, but he’d be lying if he said he’d never considered it. Who would choose to remain stuck unground, only seeing the surface when it was time to move to a new mine? No one wanted to break their back all day just to give away the precious crystals that could boost their stats and maybe make a different life possible.
Three-sixteen was certain that no one lasted more than ten cycles in the mine without considering it, but he was also certain that no one who tried ever survived.
Still, he couldn't lie to the girl.
Three-sixteen nodded his head slightly and watched as her smile widened into a grin.
She pushed off the wall and said, “Well, since you were honest, I'll be honest too. I’ve actually got two of these and if you want, I’ll give one to you.”
Three-sixteen shook his head firmly. “Send both to the stockpile or I’ll have to report you.”
Five-ninety-one smiled and tossed a crystal to him. She turned and skipped off before he could react.
“It’s yours now. Do what you want with it.”
Three-sixteen knew exactly what he’d do with the crystal. He would’ve taken it to the pile immediately if magistrate Luck wasn’t watching it. He didn’t want to condemn another charge to Luck’s little den of torture and pain.
Three-sixteen could barely stomach the idea of what went on there. He stuffed the crystal in his pocket and was grateful that Five-ninety-one had finally gotten back to work.
He wondered if she was really being honest. Did she only have two crystals? Would she have given him one if she did? He couldn’t say, but he’d never seen a cart full of dirt before this shift. He couldn’t shake off the possibility that she was stashing more. It wasn’t a possibility he cared to investigate. The less he knew the safer he’d be and the more easily he’d be able to talk around the magistrates.
Magistrate Luck was waiting on the observation deck when Three-sixteen arrived back at his post. Three-sixteen felt his heart rate quicken as his finger brushed against the crystal in his pocket.
“M…magistrate…” Three-sixteen cleared his throat and tried again, this time managing to still the quiver in his words. “Magistrate Luck, what a pleasure it is to see you here. How may I be of service?”
Luck smiled. His eyes sparkled and his crooked nose seemed to bend under the weight of his joy. It was unsettling to see him in such a good mood.
Magistrate Luck asked, “Do you think these miners are producing as well as they should?”
“Most of them, yes. I’ve actually just come back from a stern conversation with the lone slacker.”
“Really? And what of those boys there?”
Three-sixteen followed the magistrate's long finger to a trio gathered around a boring machine. He didn’t see anything amiss, so he said, “They seem to be working hard.”
The magistrate nodded. “That they do. And yet my intuition tells me something is wrong. You don't agree?”
Sensing a trap, Three-sixteen bowed his head low. “Who am I to say what is what? My title is supervisor, but truly I am only an instructor and I serve at your command. If you believe something is wrong there, I’ll go and investigate immediately.”
Three-sixteen stepped down the ramp, but magistrate Luck called out for him to stop.
When Three-sixteen turned to him, Luck asked, “How can you investigate without even knowing what is suspicious?”
In his haste, he hadn’t considered that. He should have asked what it was that worried him, or at least pretended to. Now he couldn't without seeming foolish. Three-sixteen glanced back at the miners, hoping to find some fault in their actions, but all he saw was three boys working.
He shook his head. They were probably fine, but he didn't want to look incompetent. If they were breaking rules, he wanted to know about it, he needed to know about it. He hoped that Five-ninety-one hadn’t corrupted them with her silly dreams and musing.
All of the sudden, he had reason to doubt them. He had reason to doubt every one of the miners in his pit. How could he be sure they weren’t all working together towards the same goal? How could he know that Five-ninety-one wasn’t planning some foolish revolt?
It was his duty to know, but he was just as likely to be executed as he was to get another in trouble for doing nothing more than standing around.
Three-sixteen looked up at Magistrate Luck, his smile now gone. Three-sixteen had suspicions, although he could not voice them. Instead he said, “I don’t have your great intuition, but I believe things might be moving along a little too smoothly. The crew is still very fresh but they seem more efficient than most crews I’ve worked on.”
“Excellent, so you’re not a complete idiot after all. What does that say about you though, Hmm?”
Three-sixteen didn’t like his implication.
Magistrate Luck came closer, tapping his pointer finger to his temple. “Do you think I don’t know what you’re doing? You think you’re smarter than Vianni, smarter than me, but you're not. You’re just a number waiting to die.”
Three-sixteen swallowed nervously. He knew that was true, but he also knew that Luck was toying with him. He wanted to see him break, to see him show fear, but Three-sixteen wouldn't. Not willingly.
Three-sixteen kept his head bowed and said, “I am sorry to disappoint you, Magistrate Luck.”
“You think you've been subtle, but I've been watching you. I’ve seen how you treat your charges, especially the girl, Five-ninety-one. You think kindness will earn you respect, but that is wrong. A strong leader is feared first, he is firm like a rock and never moved by the emotions of his subordinates. They are the dirt beneath our feet, nothing more. Do you understand me? Are we clear on this matter?"
“Yes, Magistrate Luck,” Three-sixteen said as he forced a smile.
“Good. Your previous observation, while not wrong, was still incorrect. Your crew is highly efficient, so efficient in fact that many of them have time to rest for five or ten minutes at a time. That means production is slacking and it’s your job to go and inform the crew that their quota has doubled. If anyone has time to rest then production is obviously down. We can't have that, not here, not now. Can we, supervisor Three-sixteen? Hmmm?”
“No, Magistrate Luck.”
“That’s right, so get those miners working!”
Three-sixteen hurried down the ramp into the pit. He had never wanted to be a supervisor, and now he wished he could go back to mining. In the shaft, all he had to do was dig. It didn't matter if he broke his back or went days without food and water. All that mattered was that he got his crystals out and delivered to the stockpile on time.
Now he had to worry about the other miners, their schedules, their well-being, and even the managers and their ridiculous whims.
He felt bad for the crew, but there was nothing he could do. If he didn’t convey the message it would only guarantee a communal punishment. He decided to start with the three boys on the boring machine. He wanted to tell them he was sorry, but instead he told them they needed to work harder. He wanted to be encouraging, but he didn’t know how. There wasn’t any reward he could offer them, or even a promise that there’d be no consequences if they met quota. Any little mistake could still land a miner in the pit. Any little mistake could cost them their life.
Three-sixteen hated that he couldn't do anything to help. But Luck was a magistrate.
It tore at his heart when he saw smiles turn to scowls. They blamed him for the increased workload, and in a way they were right to. If not for his drilling and constant discipline that kept them on track, the magistrate never would’ve increased the quota.
He kept the magistrate’s words in mind as he made the rounds, but even if they were right, Three-sixteen couldn’t help but feel frustrated for his crew. He only hoped that the ever watchful eye of Luck McCool didn’t notice.