Yanna, the drill chief, insisted that it was just as much an art as it was a matter of engineering and technology. They were biting into unknown worlds, like mosquitoes on a new breed of creature, and it could sometimes take days for Yanna to find the right combination of drill bit style, metal composition, torque, and lubricant.
As it was, the thick hide of UEP26 proved to be a nasty blend of granite, iron, and a few other minerals that Samuel had never heard of. They’d already burned out one of their primary engines trying to break through, and while there were three backups, the first alone was already a costly setback.
Samuel approached the drill mount and saw Yanna, Braden, and one of the roustabouts installing one of the lighter drills.
“Well, don’t you just look like a man with the weight of worlds on his shoulders,” mused Yanna as a wide smile spread across her weatherworn features, revealing just as many laugh lines as worry lines. It reminding Samuel that he wasn’t the only one to have seen so much of this scrapyard of a universe.
“I thought seeing a pretty sunset and getting some Vitamin D while we swapped out the bore pike for the juicer would do you some good. Seems to have had the opposite effect.”
“Grotto people always look a bit dour,” Samuel said as he cracked a half smile in spite of himself at the fact that pretty much every strong older woman reminded him in some way of Boss Maggie Taggart and if there was ever a voice to have over one’s shoulder he could have done a lot worse. “I am also a little confused that you’re fitting a juicer to the mount. I thought we were still trying to get through.”
“The bore pike was sparking fires down there,” answered Braden as he and Yanna clamped the bit into place. “Something about the composition of the pike and the unknown elements down there was interacting rather poorly. That’s what pushed the engine out of commission.”
“We’re gonna have to go max spin on this bit, and since it’s a softer metal it’s going to need constant attention, Samuel. You’re about to earn your keep in spades,” said Yanna as she nodded to the roustabout. “James, set the board to red.”
James moved to a control panel set into a nearby pylon and flipped several switches. As he did the ambient green lights that were positioned at each of the entries and exits to all of the different levels of the compound turned red. This let everyone working on the platform know that the drill was about to come online.
This was a risky time on the platform, for if any fatal accidents or catastrophic failures were to occur, it was during the actual drilling process. Most prospectors called it ‘juicing’ as opposed to drilling. For those who lived and died by the drill, there was a big difference between the threat level of the bore pike chewing through the outer layers of the planet crust and the juicer actually piercing the ink pockets. Ink-rock in its raw state was extremely volatile, and so when it was being extracted was the most dangerous time to be on the Rig. All work stopped as the pipeline crew below the primary drill platform steadied their equipment and the loaders on the stockyard ceased their preparation for the haul.
“Okay, boy, since we’re using the juicer, that thing is going to pick up debris as soon as the temperature rises,” said Yanna to Samuel as she took her place at the master station and began spinning the drill while Braden took his place at the station behind her in anticipation of taking samples of the ink once it began to flow. “I’m going to be riding the edge here, if I let the bit get too hot it’ll lose structural integrity and we’re all going to get a molten metal bath. You’ve got to be swift and damn precise to keep the debris from pressing in on the drill too much, and the more debris that stays the faster we cross our temp threshold.”
“Well, I suppose if I fail to keep the drill sufficiently clean at least I’ll be the first one to die,” observed Samuel as he put on his welding helmet and lifted his Reaper’s hand welder from the thong on his belt. “Seems fair.”
Yanna laughed as an answer, and it was a good sound to hear. There was risk in everything they did as prospectors, and if a bullet wasn’t coming then there were always errant power tools, exploding machinery, and unstable cash crops. During his time as a salvage marine there had been a great deal of injury, death, and danger, and yet through it all people like Ben Takeda and Harold Marr had been ready with dark humor. For the Reapers, the work of the torch was always preferable to the work of the gun, though at times it could be just as dangerous.
Samuel had learned the hard way that one did not always know what was waiting behind the airlock of a derelict spacecraft or just what may or may not be about to crash down or implode when he cut through a wall or bulkhead.
The marine ignited his hand welder, the symbol of the Grotto Reaper and easily the most important item his former lover, Bianca Kade, had allowed him to smuggle out when he left the Corps. His armor was more stout than the average enforcer or low rent merc, though compared to the battle troopers of Helion or the Merchants Militant, it was subpar. The combat rifle was a rugged workhorse of a weapon, though its utility was in its low maintenance requirements and reliability, not so much its knockdown power or ability to penetrate enemy armor. The Grotto hand welder, however, was state of the art, and no other corporation had yet to produce a more robust model. Grotto wasn’t sharing either, and the fact that Samuel possessed both the welder itself and years of experience in its maintenance and use, made the marine a valuable asset to the Rig.
“We’re going hot!” shouted Yanna, giving voice to her ritual saying before every drilling session even though everyone on the compound already knew thanks to the lights. “Let’s poke a hole in this world and get paid!”
The whir of the drill was like a hurricane in Samuel’s ears, even though he knew that half of that was his imagination, given that he was wearing protection. When the bit struck resistance, however, even the plugs and helmet could not keep out the screeching of metal against stone flecked with yet more metal. The entire platform rumbled from the contact, and the drill mount groaned against the torque. Samuel could see that their efforts were already yielding results, as the stacks attached to the back of the drill mount, leading out and away from the compound, began belching out particle clouds.
It occurred to Samuel that drilling operations like this were vastly inconsiderate when it came to pollution. Larger corporate compounds, backed by cor-sec and extended licenses, did not have to conduct the ‘poke and go’ plays of freelance prospectors. They were moderately more concerned with sustainability, and so spent the additional resources to collect the debris exhaust and re-filter it for secondary extraction. This yielded a larger ink-rock haul, and as a side effect caused a dramatically smaller amount of long-term pollution. After several days of extraction, this entire region of UEP26 would be blanketed in a low-grade toxic layer of ink-rock particles. This was to say nothing of whatever other metals, minerals, or compounds might be coming from beneath the surface, ground into a fine dust, and spread across the planet by prevailing winds. The crew of the Rig never stayed more than a few weeks on any one play, and never had to deal with the effects of exposure to the long-term effects of their extraction methods.