The rest of the shift goes by in a blur of excruciating tedium. The only thing that breaks the monotony is when the guards change shift, the bored man replaced by a muscular woman who doesn't take the chair but waits expectantly. She meets Margie's eye, and Margie finds the young man who'd threatened me where he's working among the sorters. She taps him on the shoulder, and he grimaces but dutifully goes off with the guard down a short side passage. Not long after, a few moans loud enough to be heard even over the racket of the grinders make it clear what's going on back there.

  "Doesn't that hurt our quota?" I ask Margie, in a brief moment of calm.

  "We cover for him," she says. "It keeps Shtreig off our backs and sometimes he can get favors out of her. Frankly Basof isn't much of a chipper, this might be a better use of his time."

  There's no bell signaling the end of shift -- we work until there's enough axonite in the baskets, something Margie can apparently judge by eye. When she finally calls a halt, my ears ring in the sudden silence. The guard, Shtreig, reappears with Basof, and under her eye we shuffle back the way we came. We pass another shift heading farther in, and once again a variety of insults are exchanged.

  "Fucked your mum last night, Margie," a wiry woman shouts. "Least I think it was your mum. Might've been a roach."

  "Mum was a slut, but she'd never stoop to the likes of you, Jena," Margie shouts back. "I heard your last lay kept kissing your arsehole and thinking it was your face."

  I don't understand how they have the energy. I feel more exhausted than ever in my life, including right after the death race against the cannibal overlord. When we finally reach the barracks it's all I can do to make it to my cot before collapsing. The world vanishes into darkness and horrible dreams of glassy black spiders biting my fingers.

  When I wake, I have no idea how long it's been, but it's not nearly long enough. The other prisoners are gathering by the door, forming lines under Margie's watchful eye and shouted directions. From the excitement in the air, I guess this is feeding time, and I'm abruptly ravenous. I hurry over to join in, weariness momentarily forgotten.

  A half-dozen guards arrive, pushing trolleys loaded with thick, blackened crackers. At the sight of the food, the prisoners groan in unison.

  "Shut the fuck up!" says the lead guard. "You think we're getting any better, you miserable fuckers? Supply ship got scragged by fucking raiders, didn't it?"

  "Fucking Navy pricks!" another guard says.

  "Temovite was there," the lead guard says. "She can tell you all about it."

  Agni. Agni's with guards, dressed in an ill-fitting new uniform, pushing the last trolley. A surge of anger rises up from my gut, and I have a hard time fighting it down.

  Mercy's going to and it's her fault. Or my fault. Both.

  The trolleys roll down the lines of prisoners, with everyone taking their allotted ration under Margie's watchful eye. A couple of people are sick, and there's some dickering with the guards over what they should get. I stiffen as I realize that Agni is headed my way, handing out the dense crackers to the end of the line. I'll be face to face with her any moment.

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  I'm not sure I've ever wanted to punch someone so badly. This kind of anger is new to me, bubbling under the pressure of my helplessness.

  My turn comes. Agni looks me in the eye and puts on a shit-eating smile, hands thrust in her pockets.

  "Enjoying yourself, Kal?" she mutters, with a glance back at the other guards.

  "You rotten-tongued ," I grate. "We saved your life."

  She gives a little laugh. "You look mad. It was nothing ."

  "She's going to --"

  "Poor Kal," she interrupts. "You want to hit me? I'll give you a free shot, for old time's sake. Go on, hit me."

  I want to. My fists clench. But this is some kind of trick; if I hit her, she'll have an excuse to punish me.

  Maybe it's worth it, though.

  "Go on," she says, keeping her voice low. Her eyes flick to the other guards again. "You'll feel better. ."

  I give in. It's not a great punch; pugilism isn't exactly my strength, and after a shift chipping axonite my arms are wet noodles of pain. But she doesn't try to dodge or defend herself, and my fist connects with her cheek hard enough to snap her head back. She backs up a step and then lunges forward, shoving me with both hands. It catches me off balance and I stagger and fall, cracking my head on the stone.

  "There a problem, Temovite?" the lead guard says.

  She rubs her cheek and looks down at me, eyes drilling into mine.

  "No," she says, tossing one of the crackers on the floor at my feet. "No problem."

  ***

  "Margie, can we talk?"

  Everyone on the shift is furiously masticating. The crackers take a lot of chewing, even softened with water. Once you manage to crush their rock-hard substance into something resembling mush, you're rewarded with a taste somewhere between paper and bug-leather.

  Margie eyes me. "You're lucky that new guard and her friends didn't drag you off for a beating, you know. Are you going to get yourself killed after I went to all the trouble of keeping you alive?"

  "That's kind of what I want to talk about."

  "So fucking talk."

  I look around. A half-dozen prisoners are within easy range to listen in. "Somewhere private."

  "?" She sighs. "Just because I took pity on you doesn't mean I want to fuck --"

  "Not like that. ."

  Margie sighs again. "Fine. But if you try to cop a feel, I swear by the Fifth …"

  We head to the back of the room. Several dead-end stub tunnels curve a little ways into the rock there; one of them is our privy, and I deduce the function of the others from the little pile of stinking sheets and the obscene graffiti on the walls. Margie faces me, arms folded and expression stony. I take a deep breath.

  "I have to get out of here," I tell her.

  She rolls her eyes, shoulders slumping.

  "There's a girl. Mercy. If I don't get back to her, she'll die. She hasn't got long left."

  "Kal…" There's a hint of pity in her voice, but its mixed with frustration. "You don't think everyone here has somebody on the outside? You think I don't?"

  "It's not --"

  "We don't talk about it. Not ever, understand? There is no outside." She shrugs. "It's easier that way."

  "This is different. I have a plan."

  "Oh, really?" She scoffs. "You think you're the first one to say that, either? Half the new arrivals have a grand scheme ready to go. They try it and end up with broken bones, courtesy of Gallor and his goons."

  "I have something they don't have."

  She glares skeptically. "And what's that?"

  I unfold the tiny, grubby piece of paper. I found it tucked inside my shirt, after Agni shoved me down. It reads,

  I pass it to Margie, and her lips move silently as she reads. I can feel the fizz of a game unfolding, creeping up from my fingers into my chest.

  "Someone on the inside," I say. And in spite of everything, I smile.

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