Probably discussing the location of the hatch.
Normally, after the research base is built, the robotic diggers go from the underground archeology lab straight into the pits so no sunlight or weather can impact the Warriors. Accessing a pit from above is new. And tricky. They can’t make the hole too big or that would risk collapsing the roof and they won’t open one right above the Warriors’ heads. My guess is they’ll dig in a corner.
I do another sweep of the desert’s unending expanse and confirm there’s still nothing out there. It’s a really good thing. Trust me, I don’t want Jarren and his looters emerging from the sands. But it’s still really boring.
The shovels are unpacked and handed to the eight techs. Dad places more flags in a circle and then shovels the first scoop of sand out before the techs take over. I was right, they picked a corner to dig the hole.
Standing guard is not physically challenging by any means, yet sweat collects under my arms, between my breasts, and dampens my collar. But the tech’s shirts are soaked and plastered to their bodies as they work in the hot sun.
When they hit sandstone about a meter down, Dad orders them out of the hole, which is about two meters wide and roughly circular. Now comes the tricky part. My dad and two techs carry a robotic digger over to the cavity. The thing resembles a round hedgehog about a meter in diameter. I glance at Beau. Does he feel a kinship? His spikes are tucked under his cap. But it’s nice to see he’s also switching between watching the action and the boring desert.
They insert the digger, turn it on, and step back. The robot puffs up to twice its size. Its spikes grow and dig into the surrounding sand, anchoring it in place. Then it hums and crunches. After a few noisy minutes crushed sandstone is ejected out its…er…rear end. Can’t risk having the pieces fall on the Warriors below.
Everyone retreats past the flags to stand on “solid” ground. If something goes wrong with the digger, they won’t plummet to their deaths. Mom paces as we wait and wait and wait some more before the digger breaks through. It makes a strange hiccup sound, then climbs from the hole, and sits nearby, retracting its spikes. The desire to pet it and say “good boy” pushes up my throat.
My father gestures me over. Time for my special powers of observation. I don’t have the blow-horn but everyone is close enough that they’ll hear my shout if I spot shadow-blobs. I stare at the gap. No shadow-blobs appear. No surprise with the sun blazing down on all our heads.
“Do you see anything, Officer Lawrence?” Dad asks.
“No,” I manage to choke out because I’m just about to lose it over my dad calling me Officer Lawrence. Surreal.
We wait some more. When the pit fails to collapse, my dad nods to a young man wearing a safety harness. The tech “swims” out to the hole. Okay, he’s doing a low crawl which spreads his weight out. It still looks like swimming to me. Once he reaches the edge he lowers an air testing instrument into the pit. Checking the gauge for any signs of toxins, he releases more and more rope until it hits the bottom.
“It’s stale. We’ll need to pump some fresh air in there,” he declares and swims back.
Another tech lowers a black hose then switches on an air pump. It hums. A breeze flows from the hole. Its cool musty smell reminds me of damp clay. When the air matches the surface conditions the pump is turned off.
Now it’s my turn to swim. I don a safety harness—yet another layer. The sand is super hot. The searing heat on my face is like standing in front of an oven with the door open. I’m glad I’m wearing my jumpsuit because I suspect the sand would burn my skin through the fabric of my uniform. I’m not graceful and I suspect everyone is watching my butt wiggle as I swim to the hole.
Reaching the edge, I peer down into the pit. Sand particles float in the beam of sunlight arrowing to the floor. A row of Warriors is visible. It makes my heart happy to see them whole. It’s as if the doctor just declared them healthy. Strange. I check the shadows—they circle the pool of light. I wait. No movement.
“Status?” Beau calls.
“Clear for now.” I swim