In the next mine downwind a small a wiry man observed the proceedings, a faint smile tugging at his features. “Got a better way?” Aton asked, frustrated.

The man came over. He borrowed Aton’s stone, held it to the wall, gently tapped it with is own. The surface began to scale away with a minimum of interference. He leaned over and blew out the dust, careful to keep his face upwind from the cut. He returned Aton’s tool and went back to his own domain.

Aton stared after him, suspicious of this act of instruction. Were these the fiercest of humanity’s prisoners? But he experimented with the new method, gaining proficiency.

After an hour of fruitless chipping he retired to eat his meal. The food tasted uncommonly good. He went to refill his water-skin, then came back to attack his mine again.

Several hours passed. He excavated a fair-sized hole, but found no sign of a garnet. The scattered pocks left by the removal of earlier garnets mocked him. He resented the facility of the unknown person who had succeeded where Aton was failing. He began to understand why the other miners did not bother him: the business of making a living was too important. This was grinding, mind-deadening labor, cramping his forearms, tiring his legs. When he shut his eyes he saw a vision of the blank, pitted, pitiless wall; when he opened them, they smarted and blurred.

At length there was a general exodus, and Aton followed, picking up the routine by observation. They went to Garnet’s office, where she was handing out new packages. The men and women formed into a rough line, each in turn offering a single gem in exchange for the meal.

Aton, of course, was empty handed.

Garnet accepted no explanations. No garnet, no food. “Don’t cry on my shoulder, Five,” she told him irritably. “You’ve got to learn to work down here, newcomer. You don’t get nothing for nothing. Better go look for a stone.

Aton left, tired and angry. His hands were raw and blistered, his lungs choking from the dust. He was hungry, but the vacant wall offered no hope.

His little neighbor approached: coarse black hair, bright black eyes. “No food?” Aton nodded. “Look, pal, she won’t never give you nothing to eat ‘less you got a stone. You got to have a garnet.”

Aton was unimpressed with the news. “I know that,” he snarled. “I forgot to pick one up.”

The man dropped his voice confidentially. “Well, look, see, like if I was to do you a favor, would you be my pal? Name’s Framy. Like if I was to give you a stone...”

Aton studied him, not certain of the gist. What kind of proposition was this? The man was cringingly eager. If he were a pervert—