Gary tapped into the network via tele-punch card, indicating the time and entrance he had arrived in. Three minutes early, enough to get paid a fraction early without being sued for forcing over-time pay. He hunkered his way through a mob of scabs leaving the third shift, past the booinh protestors. One gave him a silent nod, a hard woman named Cheri. She used to box decommissioned combat 'droids in exhibition matches— less to win, more to make it a minute without losing. First shift wasn't striking yet, and third shift understood the precarity everyone was in.
Most of first shift used to be criminals.
As first shift came together under the dim halogenetic lights, Gary reflected on his past jobs. He thought about how much he wished his coworkers in this job, any of his old jobs, would have been brave enough to strike. Gary used to pretend to be a revolutionary, until he got caught. He used to have nightmares about digging graves for the people in the prison camps he'd be placed in, pale bones resting in midnight blue sand. In comparison to his worst fears in the cold light of day, the job was almost cushy.
"O quotidian error... o sensitive table... o fragile flesh..." a miner in baggy, robe-like coveralls muttered next to Gary. He and the others in the throng tried not to acknowledge the Mutterer. It was unclear whether the straw boss was a particularly sophisticated Shambler, a shell-shocked vet, or simply simple. The Theremin Group paid for his meals and labor anyway, as it did the rest of the stodgy, soot-covered workers. They couldn't afford not to— holograms, Nemesis 'droids, nanobots, and Coupling units were all well and good for other work, but they hadn't yet made a 'bot that could mine the way a man could. They hadn't yet made Gary obsolete, as much as they might desire that.
"O supple... Hold," the Mutterer spake. A ringed transmitter glinted three flashes, an indication that a packet of data was beamed into the straw boss's head. The Mutterer held up a gray, gnarled fingertip in the direction of a round, sturdy man named Nutt. Nutt held up a finger in turn. "Who, me?" The Mutterer nodded. Gary winced. He had liked Nutt. Two workers hauled over sets of long, thick, half-rusted chains attached to a pair of chipped cobalt blue mag-clamps. The miner's hangdog look couldn't save him from what was required of him.
Nutt walked through the crowd of silent laborers, all wearing patched-up seafoam green boiler suits. The Load had to be carried, up through a mile of turning track. The Load was a ceremonial object, a testing bank for new track laid down by labor 'droids. For safety's sake, anyone from the age of 12 and up was supposed to be able to drag it along the track via grav-lev cart without any fuss. The Load weighed more than a neutron star depending on who you asked. Everyone on site was supposed to pull The Load twice per project, but in practice most miners either quit, transferred, or died before the second pull.
Gary watched the doomed miner with trepidation, a shadow of despair on both their faces. Nutt's was a more practical fear than Gary's existential one. Nutt was a single father, his daughter Claire never knew her mother. Bev had died before Gary had ever met Nutt, but she would have been on first shift for the same reason as Gary. Both reasons, Gary sighed to himself. He had been beautiful, once. Shaking his head loose from self-pity, knowing that at least he still had his body, Gary watched his comrade start The Load's bootup sequence and roll the boxy payload towards its destination.
Lift.
Lift.
Tug.
Pull.
Lift.
Turn.
Step.
Step.
Step.
Breathe.
Breathe.
Breathe.
Shock.
Moan.
Cry.
Weep.
Sob.
March.
Step.
Step.
Tug.
Turn.
Lift.
Lift.
Heave.
March.
Step.
Step.
Step.
Step.
Step.
Step.
Turn.
Step.
Gasp.
Trip.
Fall.
Fall.
Fall.
Fall.