“Commander.” The soldier stepped up to his commanding officer.

“What is it Corporal?” The commander sighed his resignation. He hated being on this planet. He hated being the commander of this foolish illegal mine.

“One of the miners has declared Mother Load.” The Corporal hated his commanding officer. The man was not incompetent, not by any stretch of the imagination, but he simply did not care about anything other than himself and it showed in a number of the standing orders handed down since he had been assigned to the operation.

“Which one this time?”

“Klorachamol.” The Corporal said the name simply, without any special inflection, but it was a timed grenade all the same.

The Commander paused and for the first time looked fully at the corporal to see if he was joking, but he knew none if his subordinates would dare such a joke. “Please expand.”

“Sir. He and the new scrambler, currently his ward, declared it four days ago when you were gone. Their initial deposit exceeded Klorachamol’s year quota by over double, establishing fulfilled ML status, sir. Subsequently, they have exceeded ten times Mr. Klorachamol’s yearly quota and word is that they have barely scratched the surface. Apparently, they found a large bubble a distance down a worm hole that Mr. Klorachamol had recently discovered. They sent a record chip with the scrambler and preliminary estimates are that the bubble contains enough crystal to meet the Lady’s established annual quota, sir.”

The Commander stood thoughtfully for a long moment. “Very well, Corporal. Provide Klorachamol sufficient leeway to ensure nothing untoward happens, but be a bit circumspect about it. Keep me informed.”

“Yes sir.”

The week passed and there was no end in sight for the Mother Lode claim. Because the mentor relationship ended, Moriah was given a split claim with Klorachamol, but her personal quota was set at the predetermined, and rather low new-miner’s quota. Thus she more than exceeded her yearly quota with the first load entered under her own account. At the end of the second week of the Mother Lode declaration, the claim was opened to all other miners. However, only the other two scramblers could benefit from it, since they were the only ones able to get to the bubble.

But those two did not waste any time. Gnomes, the smaller version of the gnarly folk, dwarves being the larger, they easily claimed their own mother loads after seeing how much remained in the bubble and the three scramblers worked together without bickering, for the most part. Moriah said nothing when Hank took half of her work every once in a while.

“Stop that, Hank,” Rocklite finally said, fed up with the older gnome’s thievery. “You don’t have to take the child’s stone to make your quota.”

“Stay out of this, Rocky,” Hank replied offhand. “She’s not complaining, so don’t stick your nose into it, right? She’s already set for the next couple of years her bank’s so stoked. It’s not like any of us are actually going to leave this place alive anyway.”

“And yours isn’t? And if it doesn’t matter, then why are you doing it?” Rocklite demanded. “If you don’t knock it off, I’ll mention it to Klorachamol.”

“If you say a word, I’ll kill you,” Hank replied in good humor. “It will be accidental of course.”

Rocklite frowned. Several people who had crossed the gnome had already gone missing, presumed dead. He would not off Rocklite easily, but the older gnome’s grasp of earth lore ought not be taken lightly. “Fine. I won’t mention it, but Ker might wake up one of these days.”

“She can be eliminated too,” the gnome snorted. Both gnomes stopped talking abruptly and turned to look into the dead gaze of Ker. She stared at them without pause for a long time, no expression on her face, no light in her eyes. Finally Hank snarled, “Stop looking at me, girl, or you’ll die a miserable death.”

Moriah’s gaze never wavered and eventually both gnomes became so nervous they left the bubble for a break. Moriah watched them go, vaguely confused. He had not killed her. She wondered why. Turning back to the gem she had been cutting free, she resumed her task.

“I tell you, I want her out of the bubble!” Hank yelled at the head depot clerk, overly animated. “I can cut more than she can in half the time!”

The clerk tapped his display. “Then why haven’t you? You’ve only brought out three-quarters her load in the past three days.” He gazed steadily at Hank. No one really cared for the small man, small in stature, smaller in character. “Besides, you cannot bar her from her own claim, no matter what. She, however, can bar you if you try to impede her, or if you steal from her.”

“What! Are you accusing me of stealing? I can have you removed from the Depot for that shit!”

“You may file a complaint, Hank. The guard’s right over there.” The clerk indicated the depot’s resident guard, unconcerned. While he did not want the attention, he knew Hank didn’t either. “I’ll call him over for you if you like.”

With an unpleasant curse directed at the clerk, the gnome stalked out of the depot. The clerk watched him go, more than a little disturbed. He had not really thought the gnome was stealing from Ker. He looked at the production tabulations again. How was the girl producing this much if the bastard was stealing part of it? She was a child for crying out loud.

Two months passed and the bubble was well mined, but did not appear to be near exhaustion. Moriah spent her time cutting the crystal ore, eating and sleeping. She had already exceeded all possible expectations and had enough credit in her bank so she would not have to meet her now rather high quota for the next year and a half, but she did not stop.

Hank still took part of her take, and she still said nothing - to anyone.

One “day,” day being a rather relative term to the miners, Moriah sat alone in the sleeping cave. She had remained in Klorachamol domain on sufferance. He repeatedly told her to go find another place to sleep, she repeatedly ignored him. The dwarves had accepted her presence as a matter of course. Jenna remained unnerved by her, but thought the child’s presence rather erotic, so did not object.

But right then, Moriah sat alone. Hank stepped into the cave’s entrance, glancing around. Moriah sat staring off into space. Approaching quietly, the gnome stepped into her line of sight suddenly and barked, trying to startle her. She did not flinch, but after a long moment her gaze shifted so that he felt the death present there in it fully.

“Damn, you’re one creepy kid,” he chuckled. Smiling at her in a most winning way, he continued, “Hey, I’m a little curious which of us is the better scrambler, Ker. How about you and I having a little contest?” He smiled at her and held up a bracelet set with crystal. “I will give this to you, if you win.” Her eyes did not shift to the object, merely staring at him without blinking.

His smile faltered. “Okay, I‘ll one up it. If you win, I’ll show you how to make this pretty thing.”

Silence.

His face turned into a sneer. He hated that she would not talk. He hated everything about this place and he hated everyone in it, but of everything that he hated, this human child now topped the list. “Fine. I’ll show you how to make it first. Then we’ll have our little contest. You win, you get this bauble.” Now he smiled, “But if you lose, I get you. You will come serve me properly. How does that sound, Ker?”

“It sounds like a terrible deal,” Klorachamol said, standing in the cave’s back entrance, an edge of fury in his voice. “Leave this cave now, Hank, before I forget you’re a soft Edict.”

Hank looked up and sneered at the human. “You are deadly, boy, but you’re not the only one who knows how to kill. You best watch who you threaten. I’m not one of those pathetic weaklings that cower in your shadow.” He laughed. “And I wasn’t making the bet with you, but with Ker. She has to make her own decisions.”

“Her own decisions?” Jenna said coming in from the other entrance. “Just what do you mean by that, Hank? She’s just a child and cannot even talk.” Corko stood with her.

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Hank frowned at his distant cousin. He was confident he could take the humans, but not if Corko interfered. “Just a friendly bet as to who is the better scrambler, but I see her babysitters are ever so careful of their little baby.” He laughed his derision.

Moriah took a step toward the gnome, looking at him level in the eyes. Hank backed away from those twin globes of the grave. Moriah continued to gaze at him and he took another step backwards. She took a step, following him.

“What in the twelve pits of hades do you want!” he snarled. She just gazed at him, rasping his nerves past endurance.

“Accepts challenge she has,” intoned Corko softly, breaking the tension.

“What!” Jenna and Klorachamol both exploded, but stopped at the raised hand.

“I speak what is seen. Terms of bet, what be they?” Corko stared at Hank hard for a long moment.

“I would give her this bracelet if she beats me scrambling. If I win, she serves me.” He grinned.

“I believe you also said you would show her how to make the bracelet before the contest, if she accepted,” Klorachamol added narrowly. “Or perhaps you forgot about that part?”

Hank glared, clenching fists to the point of drawing blood. Damn the human. “That is hardly ...”

“You stated the terms, gnome,” Klorachamol snapped, glaring back with equal hostility. Imaginary bugs fell dead in the tense air. “No one in this mine would believe the idea came from her, even if she had come up with it.”

Hank was about to continue arguing when Jenjen stepped forward from concealment. “Cousin, you dishonor the clan. Honor contract, you will. Violation shall bring abandonment by the Mother!” he declared, but not in his boisterous voice. This voice was softer, even softer than Corko’s, but the very stones rippled with its power, pebbles shifting on the ground, small streams of dirt streaming from the ceiling. “Judge, I shall be. Cheating, death shall claim thee through clan disa.”

Hank faltered. Gnarly clans could sever those who passed the boundary of acceptable shame, clan disa. Few of the gnarly blood could survive such severance, those who did inevitably becoming mental vegetables. This had not worked out as he had intended at all. But it did not matter. He could not be blamed if she accepted the challenge of her own free will and he would not lose. “Fine. There’s a hole that Hestes found three cycles ago. We’ll begin with that one. We’ll each go as far as we can, using a crystal marker to track progress. If it dead ends and we both achieve the same distance, we will go to another hole, one of her choosing. If we tie again, then I choose the next, until there’s a winner.” He laughed, “But I doubt it will come to that. There’s no way she can beat me.”

“So you say,” Jenna said. “I personally think she can.”

The gnome stopped laughing and glared at the human. “Perhaps you would like to bet your services as well?”

“No thank you, but I think I do have something you might want,” she smiled at him and pulled out a small, none regulation lesion knife. “I’ll bet this against your little custom pickaxe.”

“What! That’s ridiculous! They’re hardly comparable in value.” The gnome snarled his outrage.

“Ah, I see,” Jenna commented, smiling as she ran a hand through hair in amusement and glanced coyly up at the ceiling. “Then you think Ker’s your equal?” The gnome’s eyes bugged out. “I mean, if we must bet items of equal value, then you must be of equal skill and ability. I was under the impression you believed yourself so far superior ....” She shrugged eloquently.

“Fine! I accept your paltry wager!” The gnome fumed.

Jenna smiled at him sweetly, wondering what had possessed her to make that bet. The gnome would most likely win in the end. He had more experience and he was gnarly, after all. All the gnarly folk, whether they were short and skinny gnomes or short and fat dwarves, had earth affinity. Few trained humans in elemental affinity could match what the gnarly folk possessed by nature. And Hank had trained nature to precision

“Bet I would make as well,” intoned Corko, surprising all present except Ker. “Ker wins, wager the hammer of pebbles against the knowledge of fluid Mother.” He stared levelly at his cousin, twelfth removed on his father’s side.

Hank stared at Corko for a long moment and then burst out into laughter. “Fool! Do you truly believe the human will beat me? I accept thine bet as well, fool.” His laughter rang off the stones of the cave.

“Written down, the knowledge shall be, entrusted to impartial observers the scrolls shall be. Validation of content, before trials,” Corko continued.

“Are you saying you don’t trust me?” Hank demanded, flaming red. Corko settled into the ground, becoming one with the surrounding stone against the heat of Hank’s fury. He said nothing in reply. Hank snarl-sneered, “Very well! But who do you suggest be the observer and who the validator?”

“Priestess Karen Fir, the observer to be. Captain Restorm Sterling, the validator to be.” Corko rumbled.

Hank wanted to object, but knew the act pointless. Karen Fir was the resident priestess of the High Lord. While a mere novice upon entrance into the mines, no one contested her devotion and loyalty to her Lord, nor her honesty. She would give the scrolls to whichever was determined the winner, no matter her personal feelings.

And Captain Restorm Sterling possessed the empathic Gift. While the ability to read emotions took great skill and experience, and could be blocked, rather easily in fact, such blocking could not be hidden nearly as easily and Hank already knew how skilled the ex-Emerite officer was. Captain Sterling was also honest and someone to be feared, though for different reasons than someone like Klorachamol. He would simply ask if they had written what the other expected. If they lied, he would know. If Hank blocked him so that he could not validate, he would know. Infuriating.

Acquitting to the inevitable, Hank said, “Very well. We will begin in four cycles. That ought to be enough time for you to inscribe the patterns for the Hammer of Pebbles. Meet at the junction of seven.”

“Ten cycles, or can you teach a novice so quickly,” Corko countered.

Hank snorted and waved the matter off. “Ten cycles then.” He laughed again as he left the cave, pleased because despite everything, it had turned for the better at the end.

Silence for a space descended after his voice faded. “What possessed you to accept such a stupid bet, Ker? Do you have any idea what he will do to you if you lose?” Klorachamol threw his hands into the air in exasperation, knowing only silence would answer his outrage. Still, he glared at her.

Moriah stared at him for a brief moment, but then her gaze slid off his shadowy form and she moved to her bed roll and lay down. Klorachamol let loose a strangled growl of frustration.

The bet became the topic of conversation for the next few cycles. Bets and side bets were made, though few actually wagered on Ker to win. None had any doubt that the gnome had already rigged the outcome in some untraceable way. Klorachamol spent time trying to figure out where the rig lay, but could uncover nothing. The discovery of the new hole was documented and Hank had not been down it yet. Everyone agreed on that, including the two dwarves.

Finally the time came. Moriah stood with Hank before the hole. He had already given his scroll to Karen and been validated. He grinned at the child, relishing the coming days. “You may go first, Ker,” he declared as if conferring an honor. She stared at him until he let out a curse and looked away.

“We will determine who goes first by chance,” Restorm Sterling said, taking charge. He held his lanky hands in front of him as if praying, palm pressed to palm. “I have a scrap of paper in a certain shape, round or triangular. Since Ker does not speak, Hank you will choose. If you are correct, you will go first. If you are wrong, you will go second, Ker going first.” He looked at the gnome expectantly.

Hank glared for a moment, frowning at the human warrior, but then he shrugged and picked triangular. Restorm opened his hands and revealed the small triangle trapped there.

“You are correct. You will go first.” Restorm stepped up to the hole and pulled out two small pink stones. “Each of you will take one of these with you. They will record your progress for review by the judge.” He nodded to Jenjen. “They are virgin stones, so any attempt to modify data by either combatant will be noted and he will lose by default.”

Sneering at the human, Hank scrambled into the hole. He was gone for only twenty minutes when he came back out and handed the stone to Jenjen. “There was a fenguar growth in the tunnel. I guess we’ll have to use another hole.” He sounded properly disgusted.

Klorachamol stared at him hard. Could he have known? Hank had an almost sixth sense for danger in the mines, so it was entirely possible, but not something provable.

Moriah stepped up to Restorm and held out her hand for her chip. The kind man smiled at her. “This route’s no good, Ker. We’ll have to go to another hole.” She kept her hand out, staring at him in her unnerving way.

“To the Ker, stone to give,” intoned Jenjen. “If she does not meet the distance of the opponent, lose she will.”

Restorm sighed and handed the stone to her. “Okay. Just go as far as the fenguar though. That stuff’s dangerous. Its spore will cause you to hallucinate as it devours you in slow leisure. You would not feel any pain, but the dreams can be unpleasant sometimes.”

Moriah tucked in her clothing, sealing the arms and legs, gloves and boots and collar secure and raised her hood after she had pulled on a filter mask. Hank watched her with amusement.

“If you go into the fenguar, that little mask won’t protect you.” Moriah continued her preparation, not acknowledging the gnome. He snarled at her finally, “You’ll not ignore me for much longer, Ker.” He leered wickedly.

Moriah straightened, looking down the passage as if the gnome did not exist. After the briefest of moments, she climbed into the hole. As she crawled, she might have marveled at the wonders of this narrow world, she might have been intrigued by this or that formation or bug, but her dead eyes glazed over them, nothing penetrating the shell into which she had withdrawn.

Crawling to where the first signs of fenguar glowed, its luminescent strands of mold very visible even in her light, she could see where some had been crushed. The gnome had continued in a ways. She did not care if she won, really, but she knew that the dwarf had bet on her and she did not want him to lose, so she continued. Finally she reached where the gnome had stopped. The memory from the learning stones covering fenguar mold surfaced in her mind against her will and she knew that the outer colonies did not actually produce spores and so were relatively safe. Their purpose was to draw an animal into the center, where the main body of the carnivorous plant would incapacitate the victim and slowly devour it.

She stared at the wavering strands and tried to pull away, but the plant did not let her go. Several strands of the mold had coiled around her wrists and were slowly constricting. She pulled a couple of times, but then stopped. Apparently the gnome had gone in just far enough to activate the main body and then used his gnarly strength to free himself. Moriah was not nearly so strong and was now trapped.