AN: I have been grinding away all week. I decided to take enough of a break to post the next chapter.

7. If Everything were All Right, We’d Be In Jail

Wash returned to the small bunker that served Balch and himself and a handful of the mine’s workers as office space, and was immediately accosted by the Foreman.

“Where you been, Professor?”

“Went out to the number three line,” Wash said, putting his datapad down on the small desk he’d been assigned. “I wanted to check the numbers for myself.”

Balch frowned, looking Wash up and down. “Number three line’s been giving me fits for months.”

“I bet,” Wash said. “According to my numbers, you’re using more fuel and producing a lot less ore on three than on either of the other two lines. I just wanted to make sure the numbers were accurate. I mean, they’re so far off, I thought maybe they were just recorded wrong.”

Balch turned back toward his office, motioning for Wash to follow. “Ain’t wrong. You sure you ought to be out in the sun so much?”

“Well, actually, they were wrong,” Wash said. “Actually, it’s worse than the numbers I was given. And if I’m going to check the numbers myself, I kind of have to go out in the sun. Is there ever anything but sun on this rock?”

Balch’s face fell at Wash’s information. He sat at his desk and rummaged through a drawer. “I don’t suppose you got any clever ideas for fixing the problem?” he said.

“Well,” Wash replied, “I don’t know a whole lot about machines, but they do run better when you put the fuel cells in right-way-round. So I fixed that much, at least.” He’d never been in Balch’s office; Balch always kept the door closed and locked. Not for the map of the mine that covered one wall, Wash guessed, and which was layered with so much grime as to be illegible; nor for the bookcase filled with machine parts, knickknacks and dusty mugs; nor even for Balch’s desk, which was nearly empty. Probably, Balch kept his office secured because of the broadwave console installed next to his desk.

Balch swore. “They were putting the fuel cells in wrong? I been sending mechanics out to work on that machinery for months and they never figured out that the fuel cells were in wrong?”

“Mechanic ain’t a guy named Bester, is he?” Wash asked. He moved so that he could see the broadwave screen. Locked, just like Balch’s office door would normally be. But if he kept alert for an opportunity . . .

“Who?” Balch finally found what he was looking for in the drawer, and snapped it shut.

“Nevermind,” Wash said, looking away from the broadwave. “Just a really inept mechanic I used to know.”

“Maybe it is. People don’t bring along their names when they come here, after all.” Balch tossed something at him, and Wash snagged it out of the air. “You’re gonna be out on the mine, you use that,” Balch ordered. “You use it all, I’ll get you more.”

Wash looked down. It was a bottle of sunscreen. “Right.”

Balch opened another drawer. “Good work, Professor. Appreciate it. Here, let me treat you for lunch.” He tossed something else, and Wash snagged a protein bar out of the air -- a better quality protein bar than the mine workers were usually issued. Balch reached under his desk, and pulled out something else – a bottle of water, Wash saw. Balch handed it across the desk. It was cold. Well, a refrigerator would be the other thing in Balch’s office worth keeping locked up, Wash decided.

“Thanks,” he said, with genuine feeling.

“Eat that out back, where the others won’t see,” Balch instructed, and Wash nodded. He took his lunch out through the back entrance of the bunker, and sat on the rickety steps. Nothing to see here – just the wall of the mine, rising up to the fence at ground level far above – but it was shady, at least, and private.

Or maybe not so private. Wash ducked his head to look for the source of a pitiful mewling sound, and saw a scrawny ginger cat crouched under the steps. “Hey,” he said, “What’s a nice cat like you doing in a horrible place like this?”

The cat mewled at him.

Wash crumbled a corner of the protein bar and dropped it down through the steps. The cat lapped up the crumbs eagerly, and Wash fed it some more. Two more bites, and he’d tempted the animal onto the steps next to him, where it arched its back happily as he scratched behind its ears. He poured some water into the bottle cap, and put it where the cat could lap it dry. He refilled the cap repeatedly, until half the bottle was gone, and the creature ate almost that much of Wash’s lunch. Wash finished the rest, and when he went back inside, he invited the cat to come, too.