Resolved, I sat up.Monday it is.
But until then, it was back to the building site.
THIRTEEN
The next fewdays were more of the same. Only, we got straight to work, without the introductory session we had on the first day, and without the excitement of experiencing the hard suits for the first time.
The rest of the week went by, and it felt like our jobs had become our lives. I’d hoped I’d start getting used to the labor, but each day, I returned as tired as the day before and collapsed the moment I stepped through the door. Each day was a rhythm of labor, sleep, and hurried meals. None of us had the energy left to socialize after work; all we wanted was rest.
By the weekend, I was relieved to learn that construction shut down on Sundays. That was also when my uncle, aunt, and I were scheduled to visit Bea and Jack.
The shuttle carried us up the mountain to Martha’s home, and I couldn’t help but take in the contrast. Her house was expansive and white, at least six times the size of the cramped units we’d been assigned. Sunlight gleamed on windows that shone like polished crystal. Inside, we were welcomed intowide, airy rooms filled with swirling, abstract paintings—Martha’s own work, as she later told us.
We were given two hours alone with the children in their bedroom, which overlooked a sprawling flower garden studded with swings, slides, and a sandpit. Bea and Jack seemed healthy and well cared for, their room bright with toys and games. They’d even been enrolled in a nursery school. Martha, it turned out, had raised eighteen children over the years. She shared these details easily, exuding the gentle confidence of someone used to caring for others.
For a moment, everything felt almost normal. At least as normal as it could in these circumstances.
Except, near the end of our visit, I caught Bea muttering something strange as she played on the carpet.
“Painybeadypeachy. Painybeadypeachy. Painybeadypeachy,” she repeated absently, pushing her toy train in slow circles.
“What’s that, Bea?” I asked, frowning. It wasn’t a phrase I’d ever heard from her before.
She just glanced up and shrugged with a small smile, then returned to her game, murmuring the word a few more times before we left. It stuck with me—illogical, faintly unsettling. Where had she picked it up? A storybook, another child, Martha herself? Or maybe it was just a child’s nonsense. Still, I couldn’t shake a small prickle of unease as we headed down the mountain, the word echoing in my thoughts long after we’d left that shining house behind.
On Monday morning at 6:00, I scrolled through the job list, eyes skimming past the usual construction postings untilsomething unfamiliar caught my attention:Mining Assistant. It was the only non-construction job available.
The description was short and direct:
Location: Vosscreek Dock. Start time: 7:30 a.m. Shuttle service leaves at 7:00 a.m.
I hesitated only a moment before tapping my ring to the screen, reserving the job.
An hour later, I found myself on a shuttle circling the edge of Founders’ Isle, drawing up to an expansive dock lined with dozens of vessels. The wide concrete promenade bustled with activity. Gray-suited men and women hurried back and forth across gangplanks, hauling black crates, barking instructions, weaving through clusters of workers.
When the shuttle stopped, I stepped out and tucked my tablet into my backpack, scanning the crowd. The faces were all unfamiliar, and I felt conspicuously out of place, uncertain who I was meant to report to.
A short, stout woman with a black buzzcut caught my eye and strode toward me, a scanner in one hand and a battered tablet in the other. Her expression was all business.
She gave me a quick, appraising look. “And you are?”
“Tanisha Lockwood. I checked in this morning,” I replied, doing my best to sound confident, even though I half-expected her to send me straight home for being so new.
But her face broke into a wide, unexpected grin. “Got your file right here,” she said. “Congrats on having the nerve to step away from the herd. Please scan your e-ring.”
I pressed my ring to the scanner, still confused. “Sorry, what do you mean?”
She angled her head, studying me. “I mean you stood out. Most new arrivals stick to construction. Motivation and risk-taking don’t go unnoticed around here. That kind of thinking gets rewarded.”
I blinked. “So I’m not in trouble?”
She laughed—a sharp, genuine sound. “Far from it. You didn’t break any rules. Most people play it safe and do what they’re told, and that’s fine. This place runs on steady hands. But it’s the ones who push boundaries that tend to move up fastest.”
I stared at her, uncertain. Relief flickered through me—at least I wasn’t in trouble—but there was something unsettling about the way they’d set things up. I couldn’t help wishing they’d just been upfront from the beginning, instead of quietly observing who would step out of line. It made it feel like there were rules I didn’t know I was playing by, and left me wondering what else they were keeping track of, just out of sight.
“So, is this job actually more dangerous?” I asked, searching her face.
She didn’t hesitate. “Oh, it’s riskier, no question. Your officer wasn’t exaggerating about that. And that’s exactly why we watch who volunteers. You’ll get a fuller briefing shortly.”
