Читать книгу Earth Girl - Janet Edwards, Janet Edwards - Страница 9

The next day we headed out for our first dig. It was another slow start, with people still struggling with impact suits. We finally got outside and Playdon opened up the big doors of the huge sled storage dome that sat next to the accommodation dome like a big brother. He turned on the glows, which slowly beat back the shadows and illuminated the huge space. There must have been nearly twenty hover sleds, in varying sizes, and I couldn’t even see some of the ones at the back.

‘We have several types of small specialist sleds, as well as the big transport sleds.’ Playdon looked round at us. ‘Who’s had experience driving a hover sled?’

I put my hand up. In an Earth class, just about every hand would have gone up. Here only about half the hands did. I suppose exos don’t have as many hover sleds around as we do on Earth. We get more solar storms, so have more portal outages to worry about, and every settlement has its emergency hover sleds.

‘Good.’ Playdon made notes against names on his lookup. ‘If you can’t, then it’s really simple to learn, but for our first trip we’ll stick to giving people jobs they know as far as possible. Now, who can drive a big transport sled?’

I put my hand up again. There were a lot fewer hands going up this time, but even on Earth not many people can drive the big sleds. It would be quite an achievement to get into trouble driving an ordinary hover sled, given the small size, simple controls, and anti collision protection. Large transport sleds are different though, because of their weight and momentum. You have to pass a test to drive one on Earth, so few bother. We have an age restriction too, so I couldn’t do my test until I was 16. I hate age restrictions.

‘Krath, when have you driven a transport sled?’ asked Playdon.

‘I’ve driven my father’s transport sleds. He runs a refuse collection and recycling business.’

There were a few giggles from the class.

‘Dalmora?’

‘I’ve gone along with my father when he’s been making vids,’ the daughter of the great Ventrak Rostha told us lesser mortals. ‘Some of them need a lot of equipment, props, costumes, so we use the transport sleds.’

‘Amalie?’

‘Construction work,’ said the quiet girl, Amalie. ‘I’m from Epsilon, so I’ve driven them for years.’

Playdon nodded. Everyone knew that planets in Epsilon sector were in the frantic building phase. The standard joke was that if you wanted to go shopping on an Epsilon planet, then first you had to help build the shop.

‘Jarra?’

Was it my imagination, or was Playdon’s voice suddenly frosty? I didn’t like it, but I kept my reply to him calm and Military. ‘Training trips, sir. Transporting people and equipment.’

A couple of the Gamman boys had experience driving big transport sleds too. Playdon made more notes on his lookup. ‘We’ll be taking out four specialist sleds, and two big transports today. I like to have enough sleds that we can cope if one breaks down. It happens very rarely, and there are emergency evac portals, but walking to one in an impact suit can be hard work.’

He looked round and picked the two Gamman boys to drive the transports, then pointed out four of the specialist sleds and allocated drivers to them. We were taking a sensor sled, a tag support sled, and two heavy lifts. Playdon was only planning to run one dig team then. I didn’t blame him for that, since it would be hard enough running one team with this bunch of clueless exos. I could blame him for still not picking me as a driver though. Didn’t he trust an ape to drive any of his precious sleds, even the little ones?

The drivers carefully manoeuvred the selected sleds out of the storage dome, and the rest of us piled on board the transport sleds. They were the basic ones, with no luxury frills like roofs to keep off the rain, or comfy chairs. At the front, were the controls and driver’s seat, behind that was just a huge bare hover platform with rows of bench seats and some clear space for equipment.

Playdon rode on the lead transport sled, the second transport followed, and then four small specialist sleds. We headed off to the edge of the rubble and started moving along the clearway.

Playdon’s voice came over the team circuit. Those of us on the same sled could hear him talking without the comms, but he needed to use the team circuit so those on the other sleds could hear.

‘We’re now entering New York Main Dig Site,’ Playdon said. ‘I’ve notified New York Main Dig Site Command of our entry. Dig Site Command monitor all teams on the site. I’m using a comms channel you can’t hear when I talk to them. At the moment, the only channels you should be hearing are the team circuit, your private channel if I want to talk to you without the rest of the team hearing, and the broadcast channel that Dig Site Command uses when they want to broadcast information to all teams.’

It was thrilling to be entering New York Main. I’d worked on New York Fringe Dig Site on summer trips with the school history club. My first trip into Fringe was when I was 11, the next two years we went to other dig sites, but I was back at the Fringe at 13, and again at 17. The Fringe is a nice flat area, with none of the old skyscrapers left standing, so it’s relatively safe. That’s where the Earth school parties, and the people who work the sites as a weekend hobby, do their digging.

You don’t see any exo schools there. It’s too dangerous, and they don’t want to come to the ape planet. Exo schools stay at home and do sweet little excavations of settlements that are only a few hundred years old. You do get the occasional party from Military schools though, or even the Military Academy. It’s a good place for them to practise wearing impact suits and using equipment, while doing something useful at the same time.

I’d decided it was safe to mention my experience on New York Fringe to the class, since it was quite believable that a Military kid had been there. I’d have to keep quiet about some of the details though, especially getting my pilot’s licence there last summer, because being a pilot was too unusual. There might be a survey plane tucked at the back of all those hover sleds in the storage dome, but I couldn’t fly it while pretending to be Jarra the Military kid.

I sulked briefly about the flying, but entering New York Main was too exciting to waste time in a bad mood. Fringe was just a children’s playground compared to this. I’d scanned all the information, and heard all the stories about New York Main. It’s a lot more interesting than Fringe, with far more stasis boxes around, but it’s also much more dangerous. They don’t let you in until you’re 18, however much you try, and believe me I tried as hard as I could. It’s not for kids, and it’s not for amateurs. New York Main is for the professionals. I’d been waiting for this for years, and I was going in!

‘We’re following the clearway,’ said Playdon. ‘The clearways are literally clear routes through the dig site. They were made by the first excavation teams a hundred and fifty years ago. The rubble on them has been crushed and sometimes fused together. The ground beneath them is stable and has been checked for hazards. You’ll see glowing markers at each side of the clearway guiding you. Remember in emergency that the green arrows always point you to the shortest route off the dig site. They’re especially useful if there is sudden snow or fog and visibility is low.’

Everyone looked round at the ruins. We were passing blackened sections of walls, some only head height, others still many storeys high. Broken remnants of floors jutted out. Huge blocks of concrete lay around, as if some giant child had tossed aside his toy building blocks in a tantrum. One huge girder, orange with the rust of the ages, leant against a blackened wall.

‘We’re stopping here.’ Playdon spoke over the team circuit as we reached a flatter area. ‘Park the sleds this side of the clearway in case other teams need to drive by.’

I looked round at our work site. The team that had worked it before us had obviously taken down any dangerous buildings. Shame. Blowing up walls was fun. I thought I could guess where they’d found the stasis box. There was a nice cleared area with a central depression, just the way a good tag leader would have dug out a box.

‘Now,’ said Playdon, ‘on a dig team, there are five roles. The team leader is in overall charge, and that’s obviously me. The others are tag leader, tag support, sensor, and lift. Tag leader is the dangerous job, because they’re the only person who enters the excavation area. They direct operations on the ground, decide how to clear the rubble, tag rocks, and guide the people working the lifting gear.’

I knew all about tag leaders, because I’ve always been a tag leader for my school history club. Well, not back when I was 11, because my history teacher flatly refused to have an 11-year-old tag leading, and put me on the heavy lifting gear. That was better than nothing of course, but I still hated having to wait around for a couple of years for the job I really wanted. It was so frustrating watching other people tag leading, and having to follow their instructions even when they were wrong. Still, I got to be tag leader when I was 13, and I’ve done it ever since.

I was determined to be tag leader now as well. I’d worked hard for years to learn the right skills. Even if I was an ape girl, I was a great tag leader, and if I could just get the chance then Playdon would see that. I was worried whether I’d ever get that chance though. A grim truth had occurred to me. He’d shut me out of driving the sleds by not picking me, and he could shut me out of tag leading just as easily. He could even make me sit on a transport sled and watch the others on this and every other trip on to the site. What would I do then? I’d go crazy having to sit and watch day after day.

I couldn’t scream abuse at the norms and walk out. The point was to do that when I’d proved I was as good as them. Doing it then would be a success. Doing it now … Well, it would be admitting I’d failed.

‘Next, we have tag support.’ Playdon continued. ‘The tag leader is working in dangerous conditions, so tag support’s job is to keep them safe. Your impact suits have a tag point at the back. Draw a line between your shoulder blades, and dead centre is the tag point. Tag support have a lift beam locked on the tag point of the tag leader’s impact suit. We often call it the lifeline; a term dating back far into pre-history. If the tag leader is going to be hit by a rock, fall into an underground hole, or be eaten by a bear, then tag support uses their lift beam and pulls the tag leader to safety, and sometimes they have to react very fast.’

If I did get my chance at tag leading then I felt that tag support was going to be a problem. When you’re tag leading, you want to have confidence in the person on your lifeline, so you can relax and concentrate on your job. I was on my own here with a bunch of exos, and I didn’t fancy trusting an exo with my life. I didn’t have much choice though. It was that or stand around watching someone else tag lead, and I hate watching.

‘You would normally only have one tag leader in an area,’ said Playdon, ‘since two tag leaders working at cross purposes could be very dangerous. That means one tag support as well. We usually have one person on the sensors, scanning the site for hazards, and hopefully for interesting things like stasis boxes. If they spot anything nasty happening, they hit the alarm and tag support pull out the tag leader fast.’

‘Finally we have one or more people manning the heavy lift sleds, using beams to move the tagged rubble. Most of our equipment is Military issue, but the heavy lift sleds are standard construction site ones. Today we’ll have two people using heavy lift gear. Any questions?’ Playdon asked.

‘Erm,’ said the hesitant voice of one of the Gamman boys. ‘I don’t understand … I was on a dig on Asgard and … It was rather different. We used sensors, teaspoons, and little brushes.’

I was pretty anxious at this point, but I still couldn’t help giggling.

‘Well,’ said Playdon, ‘that was a little different. Where you have a very rare and precious site, and plenty of time, you work that way. Earth is different. It has more ruined cities than you could possibly believe. We’d make no impression on New York working with teaspoons and we have limited people and time. Just look at it!’

I didn’t need to look at it. I was still giggling at the idea of excavating New York with teaspoons.

‘If seven maids with seven mops swept it for half a year, do you suppose, the Walrus said, that they could get it clear?’ It was Dalmora’s voice, and I didn’t know why she was talking about walruses.

I was startled when Lolia responded. ‘I doubt it, said the Carpenter, and shed a bitter tear.’

‘I’m sorry?’ asked Playdon.

‘It’s an ancient poem,’ said Dalmora.

‘Lewis Carroll,’ said Lolia. ‘He’s amaz. I specialized in art of language at school.’

‘I see.’ Playdon sounded no wiser than I was. ‘Well, we have no time for teaspoons. Even searching this one city is a colossal task, and we have thousands. Time is running out for buried items, even the stasis boxes have limited power, so we get what we can, as fast as we can, before it’s too late.’

‘So, let’s get searching,’ said Playdon, briskly. ‘Five of you will be doing things, while the rest sit on the transport sleds and watch carefully. Who fancies the dangerous job of tag leader?’

This was it. I had my hand up instantly, and looked round fast for the competition. There wasn’t any. No one else had their hands up at all, so Playdon could hardly ignore me, could he? If he did, then the writing was on the wall. The ape girl would never be given a chance, whatever happened, and I might as well pack my bags and leave.

‘All right.’ Playdon didn’t seem thrilled. ‘Jarra will be tag leader.’

Hoo eee! I was tag leader!

Playdon got a tag gun and hover belt out of an equipment box, and handed them to me. ‘This is a tag gun, Jarra. It burns an electronic tag into the rocks. Try to choose the …’

‘I’m familiar with it, sir,’ I said. I snapped on the hover belt, checked the settings on the tag gun, and fixed it on the belt.

‘Remember the hover belt keeps you a fixed distance above the ground, but when the ground shifts …’

‘I know, sir,’ I said

‘You’ll need to head over to the tag support sled and wait for your tag support to …’

‘Lock my tag point. Yes, sir.’ I activated my hover belt and zoomed eagerly over to the tag support sled.

One of the fringe benefits of being tag leader is you get a hover belt, and don’t have to mess around walking on the clearway. When they made the clearways, they crushed the rubble, but it didn’t end up anything like the perfect fused surface you walk around on in settlements. It’s hard work to walk on.

After I whooshed off, Playdon gave a heavy sigh, and then carried on talking on the team circuit. ‘Do any of you have experience working heavy lifting gear?’

The selection process dragged on, while I waited impatiently to actually do something. I was going crazy listening to the endless chatting. I’d been working New York Fringe when I was 11. I’d waited seven long years to get my chance to work New York Main. Now I was here at last, and I was having to stand around listening to Dalmora explain that she’d used a lot of vid equipment, Fian talk about helping setting up equipment at a solar observatory, and Krath drivel on about lifting containers of garbage.

I felt like shouting aloud to them: Listen you dim norms, we’re standing in a dig site, how about we stop talking and dig? I didn’t though. I desperately wanted to keep the tag leader spot, and I had to behave myself and look good. I knew how this worked. This was my try out. If I messed up, Playdon would swap me for someone else. If I did well, then I’d be a permanent tag leader.

Normally I would have felt confident. I had plenty of experience. The others had none. I was bound to look impressive, but I was still a bag of nerves because of the ape issue. Would Playdon give me a fair chance at this? He’d been challenging me on my Military knowledge ever since I arrived, trying to make a fool of me in front of the class, but we’d been temporary allies when we were training the others on impact suits. Surely, that would count in my favour.

I had something else on my side as well. Playdon might not like apes, but he’d have to be a total fool if he swapped a good tag leader for a bad one. This was only a Foundation class, not a research team, but it was still important to find as many stasis boxes as possible. Each box had a chance of containing vital lost knowledge or artefacts. Any useful discovery helped humanity, but also earned a bounty payment in credits. My school history club had been limited to working Fringe dig sites, but still managed to pay most of its operating costs with the occasional bounty payments. University Asgard courses must have to think about finances as well.

Playdon finally decided to have Amalie and Krath on the lifting gear, a Gamman boy called Joth on my lifeline, and have Dalmora assist him on sensors. Playdon had to cover sensors himself as well as team lead, because learning to read sensors takes a long time.

When he had everyone in the right sleds, Playdon spent another century explaining all the controls to people. Next we set up the sensor net, which also took ages because Playdon demonstrated how to set up the sensor spikes, and placed all four of them himself. All the time, I waited tensely to get on with proving myself.

At long last, Joth locked his lifeline beam on to the tag point on the back of my suit. Whenever a beam locks on to my back, I get a funny feeling between my shoulder blades, like an itch that needs scratching. If I trust my tag support, then it goes away fast. With a novice exo on my lifeline, the itch wasn’t going away at all, it was actually getting worse. I’d been waiting a long time to be tag leader on New York Main, I was going to do this, but I was going to have to do it carefully. My itch was telling me that I couldn’t depend on my tag support.

I activated my hover belt and swooped across to the sensor sled to take a look at what we had. Playdon was already looking at the sensor displays and explaining them to Dalmora, so I went to stand next to them. First, I glanced at each of the six peripheral displays which signalled major hazards. Fire, electrical, chemical, water, radiation and magnetic. The last two are highly unlikely to record anything, but you have to pay attention fast if they detect anything because impact suits won’t help you against that stuff.

All of the hazard displays were clear. In the centre, the main display was weaving complex patterns. I could see the blob that might be a stasis box. The emphasis is on the ‘might be’ in that sentence. Stasis boxes are designed to preserve their contents for as long as possible while using the minimum power. That means there are no giveaway power signatures for sensors to pick up. It’s not so much a case of looking at sensors and seeing where a stasis box is, as a case of seeing all the places where one can’t possibly be.

‘It looks like it’s fairly deep,’ I said.

‘What is?’ asked Playdon.

I pointed to the blob. ‘The stasis box. If it is a stasis box.’

‘You’ve experience with sensors?’ asked Playdon.

Oh no, I thought. I didn’t want the sensor sled job. ‘Not really, sir. I just like a quick look to get an idea of the site before tag leading.’

I looked across at the stack of rubble that must be over the possible stasis box. The barely visible remains of a wall ran along at one side. It would probably have some very solid concrete foundations, so it would be tough to shift. Best not even to attempt to move it, because I could use those foundations to my advantage. Normally, you have to clear a wide area and work down layer by layer to keep the rubble nice and stable. In this case, I could save myself some work by only clearing up to the wall and trusting its foundations to stay stable and prevent any cave-in on that side.

There was a nice group of rocks that would be good practice for my novice lift controllers. I activated my hover belt again and swooped across to start work.

‘The working team will be speaking on team circuit,’ said Playdon. ‘The rest of you should keep that set to listen only so you don’t distract them with idle chatter. Jarra, you’d better start with …’

I tagged the first rock. If you want to get technical, they mostly aren’t rocks, but big chunks of concrete, concraz, or whatever. Frankly, I don’t really care. They’re big heavy lumps of debris that need shifting, and I call them rocks. My main concern is picking a nice solid place to tag them, since sometimes they can break into pieces when the lift beam picks them up. You look a pretty stupid tag leader if the lift beam breaks off a pebble and the main rock just sits there, but after a while you get a feel for the sweet spots to tag.

‘Yes, that group,’ said Playdon. ‘You obviously know what you’re doing.’

I tagged the next three rocks, and moved well back in the opposite direction to the wall. As I did so, something jerked at my back. I paused. ‘Joth, you don’t need to engage the lifeline beam unless I’m in trouble. I need to be free to move.’

‘Sorry,’ said Joth.

I backed to what should be a safe distance even with the most incompetent novices on the lifting gear.

‘I need the lifts to move the rocks directly away from me,’ I said. ‘In the direction that I’m facing now, beyond the wall, you can see a nice flat area with a hollow in the middle. That’s probably where they found the stasis box. No one will want to dig there again, so that’s a nice place to put our rubble.’

‘Jarra’s tagged the first four rocks for you,’ said Playdon. ‘Amalie, lock your beam on the first and shift it. Once it’s moving, then Krath take the next one. Keep alternating.’

They moved the rocks. Very, very slowly, but they moved them. My back was still itching hard.

The hum on my suit communications changed note. Playdon was talking on my private circuit. ‘I see you’ve done this before, Jarra.’

‘Yes, sir,’ I replied on the private circuit.

‘What are you planning to do with that wall?’

‘Keep it, sir. Nice stable barrier at that side.’

‘Good plan.’ The private circuit hum stopped.

I moved back to my group of rocks, using my hover belt to float just above the rubble. This area was an especially nasty mess of jagged lumps of concrete, with spears of broken glass sticking upwards. I had one hand on my hover belt controls, increasing my height to go over a lump of distorted metal that was blocking my path, when I felt another tug from the lifeline. It lifted me wildly high in the air over the distorted metal, and then suddenly dropped me on the other side.

The poor hover belt had cut out when it was out of operating distance of the ground. It cut back in again as it came back in range, but I was falling too fast by then. I hit the ground before it could stop me, and the impact suit triggered. Its material went suddenly rigid, protecting me from the spikes of glass, then the hover belt brought me back up above the ground again.

‘Jarra?’ Playdon’s voice demanded sharply. ‘Are you all right?’

‘I’m sorry,’ wailed Joth. ‘I thought the hover belt would lower her when I let go.’

The shock of the impact suit doing a full scale trigger always takes your breath away for a moment. I eventually managed to speak. ‘I’m all right.’

The impact suit material relaxed and I could move again. I floated my way across to a safer spot, where I could check myself, my suit, and my hover belt for damage. Hover belts are always vulnerable in a situation like that, but my checks showed this one had been lucky and missed being hit by the glass spikes.

‘Joth, you let Jarra go when she was way above the operating limit for the hover belt,’ said Playdon. ‘Fortunately, there’s no serious harm done, but remember that everyone. Hover belts have their limits. If a hole opened up in the ground beneath Jarra, or there was a landslide, she would fall just like she did just then.’

Playdon paused. ‘Jarra, check your hover belt and run suit diagnostics please. Hitting a pointed edge can cause damage.’

‘The belt is fine. The suit has already triggered an automatic test, sir,’ I said. If there was a grim edge to my Military calm voice when I said that, then it was justified. If the suit was running an automatic diagnostic test, then I’d landed dangerously hard on something sharp. The idea of having someone on tag support was to save me from things like that, not cause them.

‘We’ll wait a few minutes while that finishes then,’ said Playdon.

The hum on my suit comms told me that Playdon was back on my private circuit. ‘Sure you’re not hurt, Jarra?’

‘I’m sure, sir. I expect I’ll have the odd bruise from the impact suit triggering.’

‘Good, but that was potentially nasty. It wasn’t the first mistake either. I felt Joth was generally overeager and intervening too much. Would you agree?’

That was a polite way to say it. I could have said a few strong words about me being a tag leader and not a doll on the end of Joth’s beam. A good tag support shouldn’t do anything at all until their tag leader is in trouble. That’s when they act, and they act fast.

‘I’m afraid Joth gives me bad tag point itch, sir. Sorry, what I mean by that is …’

‘I know tag point itch, Jarra. If you’re experienced enough at tag leading to have that, then you’d better pick your own tag support. Who would you like on your lifeline?’

I thought rapidly. I didn’t know most of the names of the class. The Betans were no use. The Deltan, Fian, was intelligent and seemed to pay attention to things. I hadn’t been listening closely enough to the endless discussions about who knew what to remember if he was experienced with lift gear, but a tag support beam is easy enough to use. The critical qualities for a tag support are that they pay attention to their tag leader’s movements, and have the sense to know when they need to use the beam and when they don’t.

‘Fian, sir.’

‘Right,’ said Playdon. ‘I’ll do a little tactful shuffling of the team, to make it less obvious that I’m dropping Joth. I don’t like to hammer a student too hard on their first day on a dig site, but he isn’t tag support material.’

The hum changed as Playdon swapped back to team circuit. ‘While we’re waiting for Jarra’s suit diagnostic to finish, we’ll do a little shuffling. Amalie, hand over your lift sled to Dalmora for a while. Stay with her and make sure she knows how to use the controls. Fian, go on tag support. Joth, hand over tag support to Fian, and then come over to the sensor sled and take a look at the displays.’

People moved around.

‘Suit diagnostics have finished,’ I said. ‘It’s fine.’

‘Jarra, can you please come over to the tag support sled?’ said Fian. ‘I need to lock my beam on to your tag point.’

‘It should already be locked on,’ Playdon interrupted.

‘I’m not seeing the green light,’ said Fian.

‘I disconnected it before I swapped over with Fian,’ said Joth.

Right, I thought, bitterly. What nardle brain just disconnects the lifeline of a tag leader in the middle of a danger zone? The answer is an exo who wants to kill her. Honestly, I’d have been a lot safer with Lolia on my lifeline! I bit my lip to stop myself saying something extremely rude.

‘Jarra,’ said Playdon, ‘please pick the safest route back to the clearway and move cautiously.’

I floated my way carefully back to the clearway and headed over to the tag support sled.

Playdon was totally silent until I reached the clearway, and then he started talking. He didn’t shout, but the tone of his voice had everyone frozen and listening. ‘Basic site safety rules are that everyone works from the clearway when possible, failing that from a selected safe area. Only tag leaders enter the danger zone. A tag leader must have a lifeline attached, and their tag support sled manned continuously, while they’re in a danger zone. You never detach the lifeline from a tag leader in a danger area. You never leave a tag support sled unmanned when a tag leader is in a danger area. Is that clear?’

He paused. ‘Please wait everyone.’

Fian locked the lifeline beam on to the tag point of my suit, peered at his arm to check his comms settings, and whispered to me. ‘Did I get Joth into trouble?’

I set my team circuit to listen only while I whispered back. ‘No, Joth got himself into trouble. You couldn’t let me carry on working out there without a lifeline. If there’d been an accident …’

We all stood around in silence.

‘What are we waiting for?’ Fian whispered after a while.

‘I think Playdon’s talking to Joth on his private circuit,’ I said. My theory was that Playdon had changed his mind about hammering a student hard on their first day on site. Joth’s first mistake had been bad enough, but disconnecting the lifeline was criminally stupid.

Playdon finally returned to talking on the team circuit. ‘Jarra, please continue working when ready.’

I double-checked the green light on the tag support sled, just in case Fian was another homicidal maniac, and then swooped across the rubble to start tagging again. Things went nice and smoothly for a while, and I began to relax a bit. Fian wasn’t hampering my movements the way that Joth had done, and didn’t seem to be actively trying to kill me.

I was starting to wonder if Fian had fallen asleep, when there was a very minor rubble slippage. I skidded sideways as the hover belt got confused by the ground beneath me moving. The tug on my lifeline that stabilized me was only there for a second, and I was released the moment the hover belt recovered, but it told me that my tag support was alert and doing his job.

Playdon had one brief chat with me on my private circuit, and asked about my tag point itch. I said it was fading nicely, and Fian was a big improvement on Joth.

After a while, I reached the point where everything visible that was sizeable enough to be worth tagging had been shifted, and it was time to get rid of the layer of small debris smothering my working area. ‘Drag net time, please.’

I headed back to the clearway. It’s not totally necessary to go to the clearway while the heavy lifts do a drag net run, but it’s generally safer since things can get messy. After being tossed around like a rag doll on my lifeline earlier, I preferred not to take any chances.

Playdon moved Dalmora back to sit with him for more training on the sensors, and told Joth to take a break for a while. Joth rejoined the rest of the class who were sitting on the two big transport sleds and watching the show. I could imagine what he was thinking. He’d had a chance to make team 1 and blown it entirely. He could think himself lucky if he got a heavy lift spot for team 4, because he could well end up with the rejects in team 5 or 6. I felt a moment of sympathy for him, but only a short one.

Amalie and Krath each had a heavy lift sled to themselves again now. If I was Amalie, I’d be sighing with relief. She must have wondered if Playdon was thinking of giving her spot to Dalmora, but it was probably obvious to her now what had really been going on.

I suddenly realized that I was making too many assumptions here. These were a bunch of clueless exos. They wouldn’t have the faintest idea about team selection, or how important it was to be on team 1 or 2, or at worst team 3 or 4. If you got dumped with the dregs in team 5 or 6, then you were doomed to spend most of your dig site time sitting and watching the action rather than taking part in it.

Playdon started explaining the drag net phase to the class. Up until now, we’d been using heavy lift beams focused tightly and locked on a tag point to shift a single heavy object at a time. Now it was time to fan out the heavy lift beams, and drag them across the area to clear away the smaller rubble.

I went across to the tag support sled, which is where a tag leader is expected to be when not working the site, and watched the drag net in operation. Dust clouds swirled in the glow of the heavy lift beams, as the armies of tiny rubble bounced their way over to join the heap of rocks that the heavy lifts had dumped earlier. Most of the rubble was behaving itself, though the odd larger lump was bouncing around a little unpredictably. There are always a few awkward rocks that are too small to bother tagging, but are on the large size for the drag net.

‘Am I doing the right thing?’ asked Fian, nervously.

‘Fine,’ I said. ‘I even quit itching after a bit.’

‘What?’ he asked.

I didn’t have time to explain tag point itch, since they were ready for me to start tagging again. I headed back out, celebrating the fact that Playdon hadn’t taken advantage of my time out of the danger area to replace me and try someone else tag leading. I couldn’t underestimate the fact that he knew I was an ape, but surely I was safe as tag leader for at least team 2 or 3.

We made steady progress down through two more layers of rocks, and were nearly at the level of the possible stasis box. I was just tagging a large rock, or chunk of concraz if you’re pedantic about these things, when the sensor alarm shrieked. Playdon or Dalmora had hit the panic button.

I instinctively reached for my hover belt controls, but I was already shooting up in the air on the end of the lifeline beam, and swinging across towards the clearway. Something exploded back where I’d been working, sending huge rocks flying across my dig site, but I was already safely out of their reach, hanging high in the air above the tag support sled.

I hung there for a few seconds, before being gently lowered to the clearway next to the tag support sled. ‘Thanks for the save,’ I said, politely.

‘What the chaos was that?’ Fian’s stunned voice asked on the team circuit.

‘Probably a home power storage unit cracking open as the rubble shifted on it,’ said Playdon. ‘The ruins are full of them, but most have bled out safely over the years. You get the odd one that’s still dangerous, so if the sensors show an electrical spike building up you hit the panic button first and ask questions later. We’ll do some more scans before continuing.’

That meant a break of at least five minutes. I stretched out on the bench at the back of the tag support sled, as is tag leader’s privilege, and relaxed.

‘You all right?’ asked Fian.

‘Fine. You did well.’ He might be an exo, but it’s good manners to thank your tag support when they save you.

‘You’re sure you aren’t hurt?’

I laughed. ‘Not at all. Five minutes break to lie down and relax is blizz. It’s hard work out there in an impact suit.’

‘Things look clear on the sensors,’ said Playdon after a few minutes. ‘Jarra, take it cautiously, and see if you can spot the shell of that power unit. Remember there may still be some residual charge.’

I bounced back to my feet, and headed out again. I floated across the area slowly, looking out for the power unit casing. I finally spotted it, some distance away from the crater that marked the explosion. ‘Found it,’ I reported.

‘Don’t risk going in close to tag,’ warned Playdon.

‘Going for a distance shot, sir.’ I lined up the tag gun sight on the metal casing, and took a slow and careful shot. I got lucky and scored a direct hit.

‘Got it,’ I said, joyfully. There’s a lot of luck involved in distance shots with a tag gun, but it naturally looks good when you score a hit first time. Normally you go in close and tag things, because it’s far more accurate.

I backed well away, and Amalie carefully shifted the remains of the power unit to the far side of our rubbish heap. After that, I inspected how much havoc the explosion had caused on my nicely levelled dig site. It wasn’t too bad, and another fifteen minutes of work got us to the exciting moment when a large lump of concraz was lifted away from directly on top of what might be a stasis box. I floated over eagerly to take a look.

There it was, an oddly furry-looking blackness that was hard for the eyes to focus on. ‘I can see the side of it,’ I shouted. ‘We got a stasis box!’

Everyone cheered.

It took several more minutes to finish clearing rubble from the box, and attach the special harness so it could be moved over to one of the transport sleds. You can’t tag a stasis box directly. I don’t really understand the physics, but a stasis field is made up of lots of nothing. You can’t attach a tag to a nothing, you have to attach it to a something.

When we had our precious stasis box safely on the transport sled, I retrieved our sensor spikes, and we were finished. Fian unlocked my lifeline, and we moved across to a transport sled.

‘I don’t have to drive the tag support sled back?’ he asked.

I shook my head. ‘Working team doesn’t drive back, we ride.’ I stretched out on one of the bench seats. ‘We got a stasis box! Totally zan!’