A Planet In The Middle Of Nowhere Book 1

by DRK

Bright lights flashed on, the shrill buzzers sounded (above the constant thump, thump of that annoying, always thumping music), and the four hours of wasted sleeping time finally ended, and a whole new shift lay ahead of the devoted peons, another opportunity for them to dig more fuel ore- for the governor! for the beloved leader! Ah, how lucky to be a miner! Life didn't get any better than that!

  Almost all of them practically leaped off their cots and yanked on their uniforms, heading for the inspirational room.

  (After the early inspirational and breakfast, then the miners would split up into units, rush to their appropriate assignments, and enjoy another fourteen hours of hard work. The harder the better! Robot guards helped herd them and point them the right way in case any were slow or confused. Mostly, as it was, the miners didn't need the robots to help them. If anything, the robots got in the way and slowed them down. But the miners held their tongues, for after all, this is the way Gov. Bright wanted it!)

  No. 317 tried to keep in step, although he wished they had more time to really think about all that they were doing. Why must everything be rush-rush-rush? Even the rectime, which was spent talking of the governor, always happened on a high-octane level, everybody competing to show how much more they appreciated the governor and worked so hard for him. Four hours sleep time for their enhanced bodies proved more than enough physically, and a half hour to rush through breakfast and the inspirational, with the another three hours after the shift for rectime- but a high-intensity rectime- Why not let their minds rest a bit more, allow more time for them to reason things through, to reflect and truly think their own thoughts on their own?

  He always sat in the back rows during the inspirationals, as No. 248 had advised. He shouted with the rest of the gang, but honestly, this dedication which the others felt for Gov. Bright, 317 still didn't get it.

  The Peptalker held up Xavier Bright's picture. The crowd went wild. Whistles, applause, the works, to show their appreciation. Grinning, the Peptalker held up a hand for some quiet. And after five minutes he finally got it. He asked, waving the picture, "Miners, who loves you?"

  "Gov. Bright!" they shouted.

  "I said, Who loves ya, miners?"

  "Gov. Bright!" they screamed back, louder this time.

  "Gov. Bright... I guess..." No. 317 mumbled, unable to convince himself.

  Sitting in the chair next to him, No. 316 jammed his elbow into No. 317's side. "Jerk! Get with the program! No wonder the supervisors always find fault with your production. If you had even an ounce of devotion, it'd be no problem for you to dig a ton of fuel ore!-" He interrupted his chastisement of his fellow miner to jump to his feet with all the rest and shout a deafening "Gov. Bright loves us!"

  In the dining hall, No. 317 got in line, taking a plate and filing past the food(?) servers. The gruel-guy gave 317 only half as much as everyone else. No. 317 stopped moving along, and he pointed out, "Excuse me, but you failed to supply my full allotment of nutrition for the day. How do you expect me to work properly if I am not fed enough? I realize our bodies are wonderfully made, better than before, thanks to Gov. Bright, but we still need food to keep our bodies running. You have been shortchanging me now for the past three days, and I am beginning to get hungry."

  Hands on hips, the gruel-guy sneered at him. "Are you, now? Well, ain't that a shame! Look who's talking about short-changing who. I was watching you again at the inspirational. Never have I seen such a tepid response! You're not worthy of a full meal that is provided by the governor. If you can't appreciate the whole meal, maybe you will get so hungry that at least you will be thankful for the half meal that you get. Ha, you'll be thankful for anything soon!"

  317 protested, "How can I meet my quotas, if you don't-"

  No. 85 remained unmoving, keeping his hands on his hips, obviously not intending to give 317 any more food. The people behind No. 317 became impatient. "Hurry up!" "Move it, buddy!" "Keep the line flowing!" "Today!" "Hey, I want to get digging!"

  The miner directly behind 317 gave him a push. "Let's go, 317. Quit holding us back! It's bad enough you don't want to give Gov. Bright your all, but don't hold us back as well!"

  317 shrugged and took his tray. He went looking for a welcoming table, but everywhere he went,the many other miners already seated there refused to allow him to sit with them. Finally, he sat alone in the corner, on the rocky dirt floor. Too bad No. 248 wasn't on his meal shift today. At least he would let him join him for breakfast.

  During the first twelve hours of his workday, No. 317's team leader harassed and upbraided him at least three times an hour, every hour. Occasionally, the robot guards echoed the complaints, and once in awhile a patrolling human guard (the miners no longer considered themselves human,if they ever had been, since their transformation) also stopped to give 317 some grief.

  These human guards were new arrivals to 317, and the older human guards were gone, but then, that was to be expected. The humans rotated their duty served here at the mines on a regular schedule, since prolonged exposure to the slightly radioactive fuel ore dust led to health problems for them if their human bodies were unable to expel the dust in a timely manner. (The radioactivity didn't seem to leave any ill effects on the miners, however. In fact, as No. 25 had told them in training, the dust made the glow brighter and better., and he encouraged them to make as much dust by digging hard, as much as they could.)

  Today, 317 felt a little hungry all shift. He wondered how long he could continue like this, not getting enough food. He knew he could continue at his usual vigorous pace, trying to make his quota, for a long, long time, until burn-out occurred. And he didn't think he did any less work than any of the others. He decided to point this out to the team leader of his mining group. He set aside his shovel and walked over to voice his thoughts

  .

  This enraged the supervisor.

  "Why aren't you digging?! And you say you dig as much as anybody else? Look at you- You are not even digging- and even if you are, you still are under quota, just like I already told you! Or are you contradicting me? Gov. Bright won't like that- Oh, but that's okay with you, because you don't care- you don't seem to like Gov. Bright!"

  Suddenly, all the banging and shoveling came to a halt. The rest of the miners in the tunnel gaped in disgust at 317.

  317 stammered, "I- I never said I don't like Gov. Bright! I don't even know Gov. Bright... do I?"

  The supervisor grunted. "Ha, that's a good one! As if he would want to know a slacker like you!"

  The other miners nodded their heads in agreement and returned to work. Then, as No. 316 swung his pickaxe at the wall at the very end of the tunnel, a small flash and boom caught everyone by surprise. It vaporized 316 and knocked the other nearby miners to the floor. The force cracked the nearest of the rock column supports, causing the ceiling to sway for a few seconds. Despite his enhanced miner physique, 316 couldn't recover from being blasted to tiny bits and pieces. There was only so much the rapid regeneration powers of the miner physique could do.

  The other miners gasped. Carefully, they stood up again and slowly backed away from the end of the tunnel, where the mini-explosion had happened.

  The supervisor peered at the few splotches of No. 316, all that was left of him, here and there on the walls and the miners. "Oops. Looks like he must have hit a small pocket of pure fuel. Luckily he didn't connect with a bigger patch, or all of us would be wiped out. Even with all the dust in the air, and the impurities floating about which smother the explosions, a large nugget of pure fuel can wipe out a whole miner group. Huh, and where there's one nugget of pure fuel, there's gotta be more. But now we'll fall behind our quota for sure!"

  One digger touched a reddish splotch on his own uniform. He stared at it with happiness and envy. "Lucky 316. What a great way to go- blowing up on the job for the governor."

  The supervisor said, "That pure fuel needs to be dug out of the wall, if there is any more embedded in there, so we can get back to work. And dug with great cauti
on, so as not to strike it too hard, and without any sparks from the shovels hitting stone. Without any ore impurities, the pure fuel nuggets are too volatile. Any misstep will assure the guy who did the misstep that he won't have a chance to make anymore mistakes. Good thing this blast took the path of least resistance- outwards, instead of blowing up backwards, into the wall, causing more nuggets of pure fuel to explode, if they are there in the wall, and there are. If that had happened, we'd all be as lucky as No. 316."

  The supervisor moved his team down to the opening of the tunnel, as far away as possible from the other end, where 316 had been. There, the tunnel branched off from a larger tunnel. They moved away from even standing in front of the entrance of their assigned work tunnel, and into the larger shaft. Some other miners hurried over to see what had happened, and the team waved them back.

  "Okay," said the supervisor, "one of us has to dig out all the pure fuel nuggets and package them securely. It's probably a suicide mission, and it might take several of us before we get all the pure fuel extricated. Well, who wants to be first to blow up for the governor?"