Chapter 2
Joey shuffled with the crowd up the wide metal ramp at the far edge of the crater. The ramp rattled with the chaotic rhythm of dozens of Angel boots and reverberated through his soles. But the racket could not drown out the death scream still echoing in Joey’s ears.
He snapped his pickaxe, shovel, and debris brush into their metal clips on the equipment rack. Like the ore processors and AGLS recharge stations, the racks had escaped the fury of the Trojans. The equipment only suffered dents and easily patched holes. Most of the rocks hit the crater and beyond. Out there, an outpost foreman station had been destroyed, along with a pair of one-seat rock runners and their refuel pumps.
Before the end of the shift, Joey had learned his dad’s friend had been killed, a quiet but respected miner named Felix. It was Felix’s scream that lingered in Joey’s ears. Rocks had punched through his head and body and threw his remains a kilometer away. Joey had spoken to him a few times, but the man never said much. That he was gone now was distant, too hard to grasp. But the scream was not distant.
“Joey.”
A hand grabbed Joey’s shoulder. The boy turned to find Foreman Alejo smiling at him.
“I saw what you were drawing, kid,” Alejo said.
Joey’s breath caught in his throat. Smile or no, he didn’t imagine drawing on the job was okay.
“It was really good,” Alejo said.
“Oh,” Joey said, relieved. “Thank you, sir.”
“But keep it to breaks, okay? Don’t want people calling you Olly.”
“No, sir. I’m no Olly.” Joey smiled.
“Alright. Have a good night, Joey. Tell your dad hello.”
“Thank you, sir. I will.”
People saw him drawing. That meant his dad might know. Imagining his dad lecturing him tonight stole his smile.
Joey rejoined the stream of miners leaving the dig site. When they were close enough, scraps of conversations carried over ShortComs. It was mostly banter about dinner or friendly jabs about who was more scared of the rogue rock. The asteroid was bigger than the last one. No, it was smaller than the last one. Those were nothing compared to some other year.
They complained about damage to their suits. Rocks had punctured life support packs, the suit’s woven PTFE shells, and shattered dust-repellant systems. There would be many repairs tonight, and some outright replacements. But The Mining Society always had more. Miners were never charged for repairs. Unless negligence was suspected. But shame kept that problem at bay.
One miner suffered a freeze burn when a pea-sized rock tore his pant leg. Another miner had slapped on an emergency patch before the exposure could kill the flesh and before he ran out of air. But it still meant a trip to the infirmary, and a loss of satisfaction for the day’s work. A boy took a rock to the arm, snapping the bones. Even with bone healer, he’d be out a few days.
Joey saw Benjamin Junior, one of the other young miners, walking with his dad.
“Hey, Ben.”
“Hey, Joey,” Ben said without enthusiasm.
“Did you hear about Felix?”
“Yeah. Dad said it was his fault.”
Benjamin Senior scoffed.
“It was. His stinkin’ dome broke on account of he didn’t take care of the glass. Foreman Aceveda seen the pitting himself. Been there two days at least, Aceveda said.”
Joey had seen Felix that morning. He didn’t remember any pitting, but he supposed it could have been there.
“I believe it,” someone else said. “These domes can take a hell of a hit.”
Hell of a hit? Joey remembered the violence of the Trojans.
“Yeah, old Paul took a pickaxe to his ’cause some dope weren’t paying attention. Had to be replaced, but it didn’t bust. Paul is an Oscar with his equipment like nobody. Saved his damn life.”
“Yep,” Benjamin Senior said. “Felix was an Olly. No question about that.”
“Don’t know, seemed like a hard worker to me,” Joey said. Someone being an “Olly” was the catchall term for bad behavior. So much for Felix being respected. His years of contribution were wiped away. Oscar to Olly in a storm of rocks. But Joey had seen someone stand right before the Trojans came. No one mentioned that. Had it been Felix? It must have. He couldn’t have been the only one to see. Why someone would stand with the Trojans coming, he didn’t know. Of course, Joey had stood on accident. Maybe Felix had too.
“One Olly defending another,” Ben Junior said.
Laughter broke out around Joey. He frowned.
“I’m not an Olly,” Joey snapped.
The laughter erupted again, and Joey walked faster to get away from the other miners.
It was eight hundred and fifty-three steps to the miners’ village. He frequently counted his steps, and other routine tasks, to drown out the distractions. He counted now with vigor.
Floating in his head with the stream of numbers, and the steady crunch of his steps, was the scream. Maybe they were right. Felix didn’t take care of his equipment. I take care of my equipment, Joey thought. I am not an Olly. Felix was.
The idea of Felix as an Olly was easier to understand than the idea that he stood. There were no stories about Olly standing.