MI93

Colony 17

MI93 hated the first breath of cleaner air; it made his head swirl. A dirty sky matched his dirty blue skin, speckled above by grey clouds, crusted below with black and orange rock dust. Teeth coated with a thin layer of metallic slime, he sucked on them constantly to clean it off, but it returned.

“Stay close,” he said to his human.

He’d discovered them abandoned by mine #5, the deep earth Red-17 mine where he worked. No machines, the minerals were too fragile and precious. Flyu had been extracting them by hand for generations. Honor the old, you, grand Flyu! Preserve the Empire with your steady hands and loyalty! You, Flyu, make us proud!

Make us proud, he was a third generation Red-17 miner, but MI93 had no children of his own by choice. He didn’t regret his life, but he’d decided to spare a little one this. As loyal as he was, he drew an invisible line in his heart.

The human was another thing. Lost, hurt, abandoned, thrown out and left to the wind. He’d found them, wind burned and twitchy, avoided asking about their past. Still avoided asking. Instead, he'd focused on what he could do to help, taught them to mine, gave them shelter. This way, they could survive here, with or without him. Any miner would take the human in if they knew how to work properly. He was sure they’d last longer than he would. When he was gone, they’d have his house, his skills, and...

They’ll be okay, he told himself.

The town was small, a collection of low-built metal square buildings. No beauty in them, industrial and hard edged but sturdy. Soft yellow lights glowed through thick milky glass windows, reinforced. He moved towards the collector’s office.

“I’ll turn in our Red-17, you wait. Don’t look at anyone, keep your head down,” MI93 said. He stepped inside the collection office, a plain room with two glass squares framed by silver and a slot at the bottom. A Flyu officer sat behind the window, always looking elsewhere at a viewscreen and tapping at a glass control panel.

Fast, easy. No words.

He came out.

“Seven tickets. We did good. Let's see if the import shop has milk powder or anything fresh before we head home. Come on, pip.” His nickname for them. He didn't consider them a pet, he hadn’t bought them or adopted them. That didn't exist here, not really. No one checked papers, no one cared. Now they worked together; shared victories and survived.

You're my friend, he thought solemnly.

A warm wind picked up but never enough to clean the sky or the air. No stars. Ahead of them a pair of young Flyu miners walked. MI93’s jaw tensed as he listened to their fervent complaints. Their shoulders touching and heads inclined towards each other, obviously discussing something they shouldn’t be.

“I saw it on a live stream, they had a holodeck in their apartment.” “I’ve never seen a holodeck, only royalty has those.” “Not a royal, just some average squishy looking lady in a red dress. She was being paid to show off her holodeck game.” “Paid what?” “What do you think, stupid? We work for free. Other Flyu don’t work for free.” “Yes they do. I don’t get it, what are they doing? How does it work, what’s the work? Playing a game isn’t work?” “Streaming their holodeck game and talking, people hit a little button and it dings and extra funds go into their personal account. She was showing off things to buy, too.” “You’re insane. Everyone is provided for by UBI, everyone has to work. UBI is the pay. That’s not work, it's playing.” “Everyone doesn’t work, I saw.” “How?” “I used a signal blocker to mimic another colony's net signature and my whole connection changed, things are being blo-”

“Hush,” MI93 snapped harshly, hoping to startle both. He made a sharp shushing sound, as if scolding children. To him, they were. He was one of the oldest miners around, at least, he didn’t know anyone else his age in this sector. He wasn’t old for a Flyu, but around here things were different. The young people’s conversation pricked him as if by a little heated needle, around here things were different.

“Don’t say anything like that out loud, boys.” MI93 told them firmly. He tapped one of his pointed ears, which seemed to jut out because of his hairless head. Listening, he silently reminded them.

Wide blue eyes were accompanied by rapid nodding, and he motioned them off, hoping they’d wise up. No one was allowed to tamper with the Empire’s systems; they existed for a reason. It was a defensive strategy to keep out alien attacks on their early warning network, he remembered learning about it in school. The network that let everyone know if there were signs of systemic activity or a nasty windstorm on the way. Don’t tamper, don’t touch, don’t ask, he repeated in his head. The words sounded soft, soothing.

MI93 scratched at the black crust on his deltoid and rubbed his calloused hand over his bald head, looking down at his human friend. “Don’t do that, understand? Never bite the hand that feeds you.” He paused. “And never talk about that. Not smart.” Turning towards the import shop, he grabbed the silver handle on the door that had been sandpapered by the wind. He held it open for them, making sure they entered first.

“If you want anything, get it.”

The shelves were steel, picked over. He picked up a water jug, banged it onto the counter, and waited for the human.

Colony 17, deep underground, mine #5.

It was pitch black but for dim lights, many broken, jammed into the hard stone. Around them the world twinkled with sparks of color, silent. The stone was full of useless gems, gorgeous in every color MI93 knew, but the Empire didn’t need gems. It needed Red-17. He breathed in, warm clotted air thick with rock dust, like wet cement, an earthen scent he didn’t mind. The gas from old equipment left to rot underground sometimes mixed with deep earth gases, causing stench gas they called it. Made most Flyu puke.

He gestured right, “Feel there, don’t go far.”

A pale walker had been seen earlier, an awful pasty-skinned creature that crawled on the walls on four bent limbs, silent. It would rush at Flyu from above or behind and bite with long, sharp teeth. It took out whole chunks, it didn’t let go until something came off.

MI93’s green eyes flicked up, side-to-side, nothing. But they were fast. He didn't want the human to get hit by one, so he'd given them a plasma gun, old but functional. It could save their life. Everything else was learned with time. No gun could save them from a collapse or poison. He'd taught them to feel the walls; warm spots might have Red-17. Be patient and quiet. Don’t waste air (more a worry for the human than himself).

Now they worked together. The human would feel the walls and when they thought they’d hit a spot, he would drill. It was loud and rattled his ears. Then he’d hammer with a large heavy pick. Only the first foot or so of stone could be hacked at. He couldn't risk any damage to the Red-17. From there they’d pick and poke with slender metal tools, like cleaning teeth. Together they would brush, pluck, brush, pluck, until carefully, a few pieces of precious Red-17 emerged.

“Good.” He breathed.

After a few hours in the mines the human would start to slow down, and he’d know it was time to go up. He could tolerate the bad air a lot longer, but he didn’t want to send them up alone. Not yet. His dirty gloved hand came out and touched them briefly on the shoulder. “Hard to breathe, I know. I feel it too,” He didn’t. “Finish collecting, there's not much, after we go up." He nudged a pair of dirty long tweezers into the human's small, gloved hand.

He looked around again, side-to-side, up. All clear.

The workers here didn’t have masks or protective gear, not that a mask would have helped anyway. Only special industrial grade filtration masks would keep the micro-toxins out. Those were expensive and soldiers needed them to protect the Empire’s front lines. Soldiers couldn’t go without, but miners could. Gloves, boots, helmets all came docked out of UBI but some of the minerals in the rock burned the skin, not instantly, but after days of touching it without being able to wash it off for hours. Needed gloves. The gear was heavy and sweaty, but it kept the human safe.