Mike watchfully eyed his surroundings until the ever-present shadows in the valley deepened to dusk, at which point, a purplish light glow began emitting from tall poles set throughout the camp, which he had noted earlier in the afternoon, but had been unable to discern their purpose. No one bothered approaching him, though he caught many groups watching him while whispering animatedly. He looked for Guigui, hoping to maybe get some answers from him, but saw no sign of him. Despite denying it internally, as he searched for the large Hippocamp, his eyes sought out the beautiful face that had arrested his attention earlier in the day, but in this he was also disappointed. Feeling like it would be the wrong move to go about the camp, especially since he was uncertain if any of the other slaves were connected to the Assimilators and harbored ill feelings towards him, he bore the stares and murmurs of those within his line of sight. When that became too much for him, he took to practicing Aeromancy, focusing on feeling the air currents that wound their way through the valley, as he figured it was the only skill he could train without looking like he was training while also staying aware of his surroundings.

An hour after the purple stones began to radiate light, and the sun, was it still called “ the Sun” on other planets, set completely, he heard movement coming from the direction of the mining camp proper, which gradually increased as a group of worn out slaves stumbled into camp, manned in the front and in the rear by a small troupe of camp soldiers, numbering 10 altogether. He wondered how it was that so few guards were required to man almost 250 people, until his eyes were drawn to collars around the necks of the captives and he remembered Blarney mentioning that the collars suppressed an individual’s power. That boded well for Mike, as he was fairly confident that he was the weakest in the camp, a notion supported by his earlier conversation with Blarney, but hopefully with the collars, he was on par with everyone else.

As the group approached, the slaves that had been resting began getting to their feet, stretching their various appendages with soft groans, before walking over to where the guards waited.

“Group 3, you’re on deck. File up!” One of the guards shouted, apparently oblivious to the throng already gathering in an orderly line directly in front of him.

This put Mike in an awkward position, having never been told which group he belonged to. After some deliberation, he decided that it was better to work a double shift than it was to skip a shift and maybe get kicked out of the camp before he had come to grips with his new world. Tiredly got to his feet and began trudging over, arriving after everyone else and ending up at the back of the line. As he gazed forward, he could make out Guigi’s towering frame in addition to a few others whose forms were so distinct that he remembered seeing them earlier in the day. As far as he could tell, group 3 comprised everyone who had been in the valley earlier in the day, making him feel more confident in his decision to join the back of the line.

A few minutes passed as one of the guards made her way down the line, her large taloned hands somehow managing to scribble marks in the paper book she held as she passed each individual. Finally she came to Mike.

“So you’re the new recruit.” the hawkish looking guard stated as she looked him up and down. “I don’t understand why you are allowed to go about uncollared, but Hoosefelt has given instructions and no one in camp is willing to go against a Tier 4.”

Mike stared blankly back at her, unsure of what to say and sensing an undertone of hostility in her words. Unsure of where her hostility came from, but having encountered similar stances from those in power while in boot camp, he remained silent, waiting to be asked a direct question before answering.

After a few tense seconds, the woman broke the silence, “Name?”

“Mike.”

“Very well, Mike,” the derision clear as she spoke his name. “You will be slave number 11012, assigned to Group 3.”

She paused then, as if debating whether or not she should say more, before she turned and walked back to the front of the line. No sooner had she arrived than the line started moving forward and Mike did his best to keep up as he continued training Strength by making sure simply moving was a massive effort. The 5 guards behind him seemed less friendly than the ones that had followed him to Blarney’s estate earlier, which motivated him to push forward. More than a shove was bound to happen if he fell behind.

His efforts were rewarded by an additional point in Strength right as he rounded the corner and started down the rise leading to the cave. Rather than taking a break, he activated Tactics and channeled the two points of Dexterity he had been using to buff his Strength back into Dexterity, keeping his effective Strength flat and not allowing himself any kind of reprieve. If the System was going to give him Stat points from so direct a manner of training, he would be a fool not to capitalize on it. Sure, it was uncomfortable, but it was much more well defined than “Increasing Damage Mental Acuity” a task that he still didn’t understand with any more clarity than having hobgoblins throw sticks at him.

His musings were interrupted as the front of the line entered the cave, hugging closely to the wall so as to avoid the lines of slaves entering and exiting the caves with their yoked baskets. In the darkness of the nighttime, the baskets glowed the same purple as the poles in the camp, and as he passed a particular short slave, he was able to look inside the basket without slowing the line down, revealing that the glow came from a mass of purple stones, ranging in size from large marbles to softballs. His lack of attention caused him to stumble, and it was only through luck that he bounced off of the wall and was able to right himself. As he continued forward more cautiously, he noticed that the line was more sparse than it had previously been, which he guessed was due to the changing of slave groups.

The tunnel remained narrow for about 100 yards, at which point it opened up into a large cavern, with an immense pile of the purple stones in the very center. As his group entered the larger area, they began to split into smaller groups. One of the groups walked over and put yokes over their shoulders, an empty basket on each side, then joined the line of incoming traffic that was entering the cave. Another group walked directly over to the large pile and began putting rocks into the buckets of those who wore yokes, so that when a slave had completely circled the pile, their basket was full. The amount of synchronization was impressive, as he didn’t see anyone drop a rock or stumble as rocks were added to their baskets, a testament to the sheer amount of time each person had spent performing their tasks.

Another group walked around the pile to the back side, where a large ramp angled above the pile, and grabbed the handles of incredibly large wheelbarrows. Mike noticed that those in this group were by far the largest of the slaves, and he could easily pick out Guigi among them even in the faint light.

The final group walked to a small countertop, where a guard handed each a pickaxe, before they turned and followed the already moving wheelbarrows further into the tunnel.

“You’ve been assigned dig duty, though don’t ask me why. You don’t look strong enough and you certainly haven’t earned the privilege. But I’m not one to not recognize a new piece on the board.” A voice said, so close to his ear that he nearly stumbled in surprise.

Mike turned to see a weasely looking being with a slave collar about its neck. The creatures breath was hot and rank in Mike’s face, and it was all he could do to not step away.

“I’m Mustela, the lead slave, and I’ll be showing you where to go. As your superior, you’ll be expected to follow any directions I give you. Do you understand?”

Mike eyed the nervous way Mustela eyed his surroundings, which contrasted with the show of confidence he tried to project with posture. These facts, combined with him being “in charge” of the slaves told Mike two key things: 1. This was a being who was willing to take advantage of anyone beneath himself in his search for power. 2. He wasn’t to be trusted. Mike had met these types of people before, and he knew that if he conceded to these small matches for power, he would have a hard time getting his own independence back. So rather than responding, he just looked squarely in the creature’s hard black eyes, refusing to be the first to look or move away.

“We’ll see how long your defiance lasts after you go through a few shifts. You will soon learn that I can make your life much harder than it needs to be, and you will wish you had joined me.” Mustela said at length, his voice clearly tinged with anger.

He began stalking away before he called over his shoulder, “Just because you are new, doesn’t mean you won’t be responsible for meeting your quota.”

Mike watched him walk away as he softly said, “Some things never change. Apparently, regardless of the planet you are on, there are bullies and those who hate anyone who represents even the smallest threat to their power.”

“Well spoken, even if the words are surprising coming from a Terran.” a voice said, surprising Mike as he thought he had been alone.

“But even so, Mustela does hold power here, and he will make your life miserable.” The voice continued as Mike turned towards its source, where he a bent and aging hobgoblin, whose long, white foomanshoo hung nearly a foot from his face. “Still, there are those among us who respect honesty and we tend to look out for each other. Follow me, and I will show you what it means to be a digger.”

Mike followed the hobgoblin over to where the pickaxes were being distributed. “My new friend erh….” the hobgoblin paused and looked up at him.

“Mike.” Mike said, supplying his name.

“Right, thanks. My name is Butther.” the hobgoblin replied, before turning back to the counter. “My new friend Mike here will need a pickaxe.”

“Number?” The large slave asked as he reached over to pick up one of the tools.

“11012.” he said, grateful for the memorization practice his mother had drilled into him as a child that made remembering numbers and dates much easier.

After the slave wrote down the number in the pad, he handed the pickaxe over and turned back to his work without further acknowledging their presence.

“The tool distributors are high up the slave food chain and don’t really engage in friendly conversation, despite my best efforts.” Butther explained as he guided Mike further into the cave where the wheelbarrows and other miners had gone earlier. “But they are politically nuetral, which makes them easier to get along with than most in the camp.”

The next twenty or so minutes the hobgoblin continued to talk about camp politics and what to do and not to do. Mike was surprised at the speed with which the creature moved, and was obliged to use Tactics to channel some more Dexterity into Strength in order to keep up. Training was all well and good, but he didn’t want to be a burden on someone so willing to help him out. Even after using Tactics, he was barley able to keep up with the small creature and was only able to pick out bits and pieces of what was being told him.

“During each shift, a digger’s quota is set to twice their volume in Mythril.” Mythril was the glowing purple rock, Mike surmised. He also found out that a shift was two full days, followed by one day of rest, and possibly most importantly, food was served each morning in the main cavern. If anyone missed the food, there was no other food til the next morning.

When he asked what type of food was given, Mustela had said in disgust, “Tier 2 Helios Flank. They give us enough to do our work, but nothing good enough to help any of us progress towards Tier 3.”

The only word Mike understood in that sentence was “flank” but rather than saying as much, he nodded in understanding, thinking it was better to not divulge just how little he knew.

At the end of the twenty minutes, Mustela lead him into a small offshoot from the main tunnel and left him there. Wishing him the best of luck as he exited towards his own mining area.

Left alone for the first time since he had arrived on this new planet, Mike took a deep breath and surveyed his surroundings. The cave he found himself was darker than most of the other cave areas, with only small twinkling shining from the walls around him, making him feel like he was sitting in space.

“Well, I won’t make any progress standing here. Maybe if I can bust this out quickly, I can work on developing my other skills so I can get out of here.” He said, forcing himself to be as enthusiastic as always.

Aiming at a particular speckle of Mythril in front of him, he swung his pickaxe as hard as he could. Only hours of chopping trees with a rebounding ax saved him from the head of the pickaxe as it shot towards his face.

“Well…. Shoot. I guess I should have anticipated this.”