Taking his new ward to the supply distribution area, Klorachamol leaned against a wall with arms crossed and eyes hooded as the usually belligerent supply clerk gave the girl three sets of rugged mining coveralls, a pair of boots, a pair of leather gloves and some bedding. In addition to these, he gave her the standard issue lesion knife for cutting crystal and ore from stone and a pickax for general digging. Finally, he issued an anti-grav hand cart, which she would use to bring in whatever crystal and ore she managed to collect.

Next Klorachamol took his small charge to the depot cavern where she would bring her quota for in-processing. He introduced her to the two clerks on duty. “Don’t worry about remembering their names,” he told her, feeling the effort worthless as a cart full of dirt. “The guards choose new clerks on a whim.”

In all this, Moriah made no acknowledgment, never flinched nor reacted even once to any outside stimulus. Klorachamol sighed, reflecting that the following week promised a sample of eternal punishment, no matter how he looked at it.

“Come with me, Ker.” He led her out of the depot. They passed through several larger caverns full of scattered ember pits and bed rolls, some of which contained sleeping bodies. A few of the pits held men and women hunched over glowing coals for warmth, breath fogging in the subterranean chill. Black coal lay in heaps to fuel the pits. Boxes and blankets set up as makeshift curtains broke the cavern into sections of semi-private rooms.

Leading her out of the general living caverns, the man took Moriah to a much smaller cave. “You’ll sleep here with me for the next week. After that, you’re on your own kid. You’ll have to find your own territory. But for now, put your bedding over there,” he indicated a wall, “and change into one of your jumpers.” He stood watching her obey, his expression unreadable.

Moriah set her two blankets and pillow where he indicated and began to undress, unaware or uncaring of his observation. Once she had put the jumper on, Klorachamol led her to a second tunnel mouth opening into his living space. This one lead into the mine tunnel-complex. “Ker, this leads to the mine proper. You don’t need to check in or out of the main base here, but turn your daily quota in before deadline. Don’t ever be late.” He knew the child listened because she obeyed his directives, but she gave no other physical or verbal indication her mental fires were being tended. “You can arrange to be out in the mines for an extended period of time and waive the daily quotas, and even the weekly, but you have to get permission beforehand.” He frowned at her dead-eyes. Damnation, what was I thinking, agreeing to this? Stupid Commander. Stupid me. “Come on.” He led the way into the tunnel, activating the lights on his shoulders and forehead.

“I found a tunnel too small for me, but you’ll fit through such a wormhole nicely. Let’s hope there’s something down it to make all this worthwhile.” He talked without turning around, leading the way through dark tunnels for nearly an hour before indicating a small opening. “In there, Ker. No. Wait.” He stopped her before she could climb into the hole. “Better make sure you know how to extract ore.”

Detaching a grey-metal handle from his side, he held out the lesion knife. “This will cut rock and ore like a good knife through cardboard, but it’s difficult to use. It’ll wear you down faster than just using the pickax. You will mostly use it to dig out visible crystal and ore. It has a crystalline battery core that will operate at low power for nearly a week before needing to be charged. You getting this?” He glanced away from the girl. She would not be old enough to have developed any mental geisthud such as telepathy or energy manipulation, even if she had the potential, thus he decided to forgo any explanations of advanced features. Besides the information was at least touched on during indoctrination. Once he finished explaining the basics of lesion knife use and what he wanted her to do in the wormhole, he allowed her to enter the narrow passage.

Moriah just stared at a single point on the far wall during his explanation, nothing indicating she lived except the movement of her chest. When the stranger finished talking, she climbed into the hole without hesitation, vanishing from view.

Klorachamol stared at the hole. What a miserable predicament, he reflected and snorted. His current bank credit could carry him through the week, even if he failed quota every day miserably. While it did not make a big difference to him, he hated using it. There were times when he liked going beyond the boundary to be by himself and he had to at least present a semblance of blending with the other miners. Of course, he could not go far because of the infernal collar encircling his neck, but he could go far enough to be alone. Moving to a section of wall a distance from the opening, he started swinging his own pickax, the echoes of metal on stone echoing down the dark passage.

****

Moriah obeyed the stranger. It did not matter. Nothing mattered any longer. Everything she cared about had been destroyed. Nothing mattered at all.

Crawling into the little hole, she wondered if she would die now. She would not mind that. She did not like being lonely. She squirmed deeper into the shaft, and deeper still, getting stuck several times and scraping her arms and knees even through the tough coveralls. Nothing appeared in her head lamps resembling the images implanted in her mind from the data transferred from the learning-stones. No crystal ore, which could store and manipulate energy and data, and which integrated well with magical construction. No myth class minerals, metals which made the integration of magical and mundane energies possible, among other things. Not even any of the lesser valuables, liked platinum and gold. So she wiggled deeper, sharp protrusions digging into her sides and stomach. The weight of the planet pressed down, ignored by her numbed mind.

Moriah did not know how long she crawled. She lost awareness of how many times blood rushed to her head as the narrow tunnel turned her upside down, or that she wiggled herself free from twisting corners that bent her at awkward angles.

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Suddenly her arms met no resistance and her upper body hung over empty space. Below her spread a vast open bubble of space into which her upper torso hung, the bottom of which lay hidden in distant shadow. The room itself was near spherical, as if the rock had been melted at one time and then solidified with a gas bubble in it, which was indeed one theory for their creation.

After several long moments of staring where her head light shown, the presence of crystal formations sank into her consciousness. That man wants those kinds of stones, she thought. Still, something tugged her memory. The bubble formation had been addressed by data from the learning stones. She frowned slightly, which would have amazed Klorachamol since it was something beyond the blank stare.

She hung her head, trying to remember. Oh. She remembered. These types of spherical caverns should have many connecting tunnels leading to other similar rooms. Both crystal ore and several of the myth metals could be found in abundance within such complexes, as the conditions which created them attracted or grew those rare resources. As such, they also attracted the mineral eating crystal spiders more often than not. The instructions implanted in her mind admonished that “discovery of a new bubble should be treated with extreme caution.” Moriah thought perhaps she was going to die after all.

However, no spiders came out even though she waited quite a while for them. Sighing her disappointment, she wondered how she was going to get to the bottom of the bubble. Since she could not think of a way, Moriah decided she should just extract what she could reach.

Unholstering her lesion knife, she wiggled out to the point of strained unease, activated the tool and began working. At first she could only reach seven amber and red crystal formations, but when she cut those free a few more embedded deeper appeared.

Klorachamol snarled to himself as his pickax bit into the tunnel wall like the clicking of a slow clock. The brat had been gone for nearly four hours. Perhaps he should have started her on something more simple, but he had found this particular hole nearly two years ago and allowed his own curiosity to get the better of him. If he had to call in one of the other two scramblers to rescue the girl, he would lose the opportunity to exploit its possibilities.

“Damn. I wish I knew . . . Damn and damn again. Next time we tie a rope to her neck or something!” He looked at the debris of stone freed by his pickaxe. He knew that he would not find any ore from this particular rock formation, which rarely produced anything worth the effort, but he could not just sit still waiting.

Finally he stuck his head into the hole and shouted, “Ker, GET YOUR TINY POSTERIOR OUT HERE!” No answer. Not that he had been expecting one. He knew that he dared not wait much longer. If injured, she would need help sooner than later. Still, he did not know how far back this worm hole went or if it ever widened enough to turn around. If the child had to back all the way out it could take a long time.

Another hour passed and the Klorachamol’s pickaxed alcove grew into a tunnel of its own. “I’m going to have to go get help.” He leaned against the wall on the other side of the tunnel from the small opening, staring at it hard. His eyes narrowed. Shutting his eyes, he turned his lights off. After a long moment, he opened his eyes. He could see the hole outlined by light from within. The girl must have turned around and was returning. Next time she gets a time limit, dammit. He supposed she had gotten stuck or something. He hoped she would not freeze up the next time she had to enter a hole. That would go bad for her.

He turned his light back on, leaned against the wall opposite the hole with arms crossed, and waited.

With a small grunt, Moriah pushed her overfull bag out of the hole. It crunched to the ground and she wiggled so her arms and head emerged. Klorachamol grabbed her under the armpits and wrenched her free. His glare turned to a grimace in the face of Moriah’s scraped and bruised appearance. Her coveralls already had bloody rips in them. An open wound lacerated her cheek. For all that, her eyes remained unfocused and he could detect no tearing in her eyes.

“So, what kind of rocks did you get?” he demanded. Setting the girl down, the man knelt to investigate. He blinked and smiled for the first time as he upended the sack, spilling the jagged crystal formations to the dirt floor. He already knew that the sack contained enough crystal to meet his quota for the entire week and then some. He fingered the spiked crystals and then sat back and regarded the girl. “What did you find in there, Ker?”

Moriah did not respond. She did not care what he did or what he wanted. What was the point in it all, anyway? She dropped to a squatting position and wrapped her arms around her knees, ignoring the man. She was not even sure she liked him.

Shaking his head, Klorachamol divided the loot with sure hands. He took four bags and divided the contents evenly between them. He then stuffed three of the bags into the hole for later use and dropped the last into Moriah’s cart. “You did good today, Ker. Now, stand up and come with me.” He pushed the cart down the tunnel. Moriah followed, silent as death.

Klorachamol had to glance behind him once in a while to ensure she did not get lost. He noted her movements with professional interest. She walked well and made little noise. Judging by what he saw, he guessed it an untrained gait. She might have the potential to be very useful to him, but only time would tell the truth.

He led Moriah to one of his regular claims and the two of them began digging. He watched her as he swung his pickax in powerful, even strokes. At first she swung her smaller pickax in the worst possible way. However, shortly after starting, she began modifying her strokes, mimicking him.

Over the next few hours, Moriah had to rest many times, but Klorachamol never stopped swinging even once. He did not even stop to pick up the stones he dislodged. The crash of metal on rock took on a steady, uniform rhythm, each strike precise in time, power and target.

Moriah continued until she could no longer hold the pickax in bloody hands, open blisters and leaden arms overcoming her small ability. Still the man did not stop. Deciding she could not stop if he did not, she gathered the piled debris, separating them by categories laid into her mind by her indoctrination. The man never paused as she worked amidst flying debris. Several times he might have hit her as she worked, but missed by inches. She never flinched.

Silence fell over the tunnel, Klorachamol finally stopping. Moriah lay asleep a short distance away and the man glowered at her kitten-curled body. He should contact the commander and tell him no deal. He had said nothing about this kind of creature.

Turning from the girl, he inspected the five separate piles Moriah had made. The largest lay heaped long against the far wall of the tunnel, spread to keep a path open. Four smaller piles surrounded the cart, each containing some measure of valuable minerals. Of these four, two contained crystal, one of lighter colors, the other darker. The remaining two contained metal ores. The smallest of these contained myth class ores. He looked again at the girl and allowed himself a brief, very small smile. She would do after all.