[h1]New Auslassia[/h1]
[h2]Central Auslassia[/h2]

	Claustrophobic tunnels. Stale air. Dense humidity. One sweated when he simply moved. Among the cacophonous noise it was difficult to hear one so much as think. Drill hammers thundered against hard granite walls, breaking free and drilling out veins of metals and ores embedded deep underground. Operating at nearly a mile underground, ranks of miners operated in space at a premium, closely drilling into the walls to break free rock and minerals. The minerals then would then fall onto, or be shoveled onto a conveyor belt that carried the rock far and away back to the surface, where it would be separated and processed as marketable ore for the refineries on the coast or abroad.

	Despite the natural noise – jacks hammering like machine gun lightning, the cries and ringing of heavy lifting machines, the rattle of the conveyors – someone somewhere in the tunnels had set up a radio that blasted a loud raucous music with electrical amplification. The singer shouted over the heavy twangs and moans of guitars and drums that sang so deep that even through the limitations of speakers made the chest bounce harder than with a machine tool in hand.

	With all the noise, to communicate through word of mouth was hard to do, and much that needed to be said was done through hand signals and gestures. Team members turning to and placing a hand on their partners and flagging something with motions of the palm and finger. It would be understood, and there's be a nod, shake of the head, or even a shrug.

	The miners in these deep tunnels were assembled in teams and because of the heat wore close to nothing but the bare essentials. Heavy soot and dust choked boots, denim jeans that were packed with rock dust, salt, oil, sweat, and grease, and hard hats to protect from any falling debris. Some of them wore gloves, others did not. The teams were of mixed races, but mostly dominated by Alternatives, the vast total of humans ended up serving as supervisors or specialists in the teams, making sure the line kept moving and keeping the pressure on to keep digging. A brief break would come on when a great faded yellow machine would rumble down a narrow tunnel forcing many of the man-animals to press  tight against the walls as a heavy bit would be pummeled into stubborn stone to break it up, or to remove an excess load of refuse left on the ground, clearly of no value save to be used as gravel.

	As the machine left, a short mongoose hobbled in on quick steps, pushing ahead of him a metal cart with a large plastic tank. Taking a hose wound up against its side he went from miner to the miner tapping them on the shoulder. As they turned to see who it was they noticed him and his truck and happily opened their mouths for the hose to be turned on their faces sprayed with water. From miner to miner he went, distributing as much water as they thought they'd need for another fifteen minutes. As each miner in the branch was watered, he quickly picked up and left through the chaos.

	The teams kept drilling, the noise as it had been. The smell of sweat and oil strung and bitter in the air, a salty alkaline smell of industry and hard labor. A metallic clang and snap went unnoticed as a miner's bit struck something and the drill head exploding clear to the drills impact mechanism. “Ay fuck you fucking jizzbiter cunt!” screamed its handler to a world made deaf by its own racket. He was a large wolfish beast, well over six foot and barely big enough to stand in these tunnels. He had been in the mines for years, far longer than most and his skin and fur was permanently stained a deep black and gray from the hard wages earned deep underground. He hissed and grumbled angrily to himself and kneeled over the broken machine he had thrown to the ground. Broken and twisted fragments lay haphazardly across the ground and embedded even in the hot sweating stone around the hole he was drilling out.

	He was a hard beast, not only stained he was scarred and twisted from the work and his triangular snout was broken and twisted in several locations from where rocks had fallen and punches thrown to break his nose in several ways. An old mine blast had charred and boiled the left-side of his face and his lips there were permanently pulled up in a sneer exposing long sharp yellowing teeth. His fingers as well had been broken and thickened with callouses from the pick and shovel and they took up the broken machine from the ground. While it was scorchingly hot around the bit he painlessly pocked and spun it in his hands inspecting the damage wrought on it.

	He glowered down. The bit had been not just broken, but shattered. The metal too had been mushroomed from the force of the freshly broken shaft impacting against rock several more times before he had noticed. Oh well, all the same. This happened many times. Taking it back up in his hands he stepped back to his supervisor and called in his attention. Holding up the impact drill he pointed out the broken bit and the fat burly man that supervised him nodded and stepped away. He came back a half a moment later with another and quickly the old wolf miner detached the old bit and reinstalled the old one. It thundered and rattled as he fired it back up and he lunged at the wall again. Moments later, after breaking through stone the bit exploded a second time and he fell forward cussing, “Ya sick pissa assblowin' cocksucker!” he swore angrily, distraught and shocked at his misfortune. He threw the drill against the ground and began picking at the rock with his fingers.

	What the fuck was he hitting, he thought to himself. He scratched and picked at the loose rocks and even picked out the embedded shards of metal jammed into the rock, but saw nothing that looked unusual. In the harsh halogen light that beamed in from his back he thought he saw what might have been the shine of a fresh vein of ore but he couldn't be certain.

	But he needed another bit. Getting his supervisor's attention again he showed him the broken drill, and through signals began recounting the piss-poor luck he had with his particular wall. The supervisor didn't believe him, but was soon convinced to at least look. With a flash light and a small rock hammer and chisel they went to the wall and began working, clearing aside the worthless rock and shining a light on the dull gray-black metal underneath.

	Out of curiosity, the supervisor provided the wolf with a new bit and had him drill at the shiny metal where he had been drilling. After a few strikes, the bit exploded and the machine was thrown against the wall. By now several of the nearby miners had noticed and began looking over to what was going on, dropping their drills and the audible chaos subsided.

	They began moving over to the supervisor and the wolf, crouching down on their haunches to look at the hole that ended so suddenly, as illuminated by the small pocket flashlight in the supervisor's hand. There was uncertain and deaf mutterings of uncertainty as they looked at what mystery they had found. Packing away the flashlight the supervisor pulled out his tablet and punched in a short message and sent it. Seconds after he made out a second shorter one and PDAs in all the miner's pockets vibrated and work trickled to a stop and the machines shut off as no more ore came up. Even the radio was turned down to a faint murmur as everyone came over.

	“Whadda'we got chief?” asked a rat, removing his ear plugs as he spoke.

	“Hard to say, lads.” the supervisor said, “We're going to stop working for fifteen. Gotta stubborn turtle to move.”

	The crews nodded and began shuffling off back up the shaft, their tools in tow. Coming the other way a small specialist team of explosives experts came down with their heads low. Hard hats with lanterns glowing in the dusty murk of the tunnel as they hulled large cases of explosives down with them.

	As they came down one of them stopped and looked around, “How deep are we?” he asked.

	“About two kilometers.” the supervisor said. The specialist nodded, “How's the bone?”

	“Hard granite, packed in layers. Sand or some shit between here.”

	The specialist again nodded, and thought. Taking out a personal tablet he ran some notes and spoke with the supervisor about certain statistical specifics. “We might have a big bump. Can you and your diggers get at least five-hundred meters up?” he asked, “We're going to evacuate this level.”

	“Is it going to be that big?” the supervisor asked. The explosives specialist shrugged.

	“It might be, but I don't want to drop anything on anyone. Even alties.”

	The supervisor nodded, and walked away. A evacuation order was given to the miners on that level, and there was a general exodus to the elevators as hundreds made their way to the main and secondary shafts. On the whole, it was fifteen minutes to get started and everything fell largely silent. Ten minutes later, and the demolition team had joined them at the mid-level shafts, among the red and orange rocks. At computers they began the work in priming and setting their charges and began their count down to three.

	At three, ears were plugged and mouths opened as the signal was given and there was a deep thumping shake that rattled the entire tunnels, following by a rumbling rolling roar that coughed up through the elevators thick clouds of smoke and dust that filled every passage it could, spreading out and filling in to settle. The pressure of the blast was like a full body squeeze by the hand of god and many of the miners felt their breath escape them. As the explosion settled they gasped for breath and coughed on the smoke. The demolition men looked at each other and nodded. The power to the elevators was tested, and an empty platform was sent down. When it stopped it was summoned back in working order. It was dusty and littered with small rocks. But it could move.

	One by one and orderly the platform was filled and the teams went back under the earth. First among them the wolf, his team, and supervisor. As the chains and chords of the elevator rattled in the air they felt the air grow warm again. But then not become simply warmer, but to go beyond until it got hot. Barely a burning hot, but an uncomfortable oven heat.

	It grew until it felt it was to become insufferable. Then everyone began feeling sick. Alongside the wolf a thin athletically built man started panting heavily and heaving as he turned and leaned forward against the elevator. He coughed and cried, before finally vomiting. The sight made the wolf miner sick as well, but he was feeling something too. A powerful all-body discomfort. His gut turned in on itself. His skin felt it was crawling. As he collapsed to his knees he even watched the fur on his arm fall off. His brain and eyes burned as a headache set on quickly and rapidly, fading between an acute skull splitting pain to a dull throb. His vision blurred as he watched the rest of the miners on the platform succumb to the same effects, falling over moaning, vomiting, and shitting themselves. They started passing out, hair and skin boiling off.

	As the elevator hit the ground, there was no one on the platform alive to register it had. It was kept there for a moment, giving the dead time to leave before it rattled back up.