They drag me over the edge of the world.

  Those timber frames behind the barracks turn out to be housing for the lift. It's an enormous thing, designed to transport several cart-loads full of rock simultaneously, and its linked to an equally massive counterweight that rumbles up and down an adjoining frame. It's open to the air, with only a few feet of grille fence around the sides, so it gives an excellent view of … nothing.

  Just , blackness, extending both upward . The rock-face curving downward is the , the boundary of everything that is, and the mighty lift suddenly seems minuscule and fragile by comparison. A colossal act of hubris on the part of pathetic humans, levering ourselves out over the side of the world to save ourselves the trouble of digging a big hole.

  I try to see the bottom of the cliff. It must have one -- we know the world doesn't go endlessly downward, because the suns pass underneath it every night and come up on the other side. The nightsun must be down there right now, its blue-white light blocked by untold miles of rock. If the rock-face does end, though, it's farther into the hazy distance than I can make out, and I quickly give up staring in the face of overwhelming vertigo.

  One of the guards pushes a button and we start to descend with a brief klaxon and the roar of engines. The rock goes down, and down, and down. Our descent stirs the dust, and a few pebbles rattle down past the lift and disappear. I wonder what happens to them. Do they simply fall ? Or is there an end even to the endless black?

  What would happen to me, if I jumped? Would I starve to death, still falling?

  I've always tried to maintain a positive outlook, but Agni's betrayal hurts. I’ve saved her life several times over, Second damn it. How's that for gratitude? Still, I'm not throwing myself into empty space just yet. As long as you're alive, there's a chance, however slim. Though I keep expecting Gray to cut into my thoughts with an I told you so.

  Unlike the seemingly infinite cliff-face, the lift shaft comes to an end after only a few hundred feet. The platform halts with a groan of metal and the chugging of engines subsides. We're facing a big semicircular tunnel mouth, the rough floor strewn with debris and a few big-wheeled carts. Two more guards are waiting for us, and one of them kicks down a loading ramp that covers the foot-wide gap between platform and tunnel. They look at me and my escort with the mild interest of the terminally bored presented with a break in routine.

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  "What's going on?" one says. "Shift change isn't for another couple of hours, right?"

  "New arrival," my escort responds. "Off that ship that didn't turn up. Word is they got hit by raiders."

  One of the mine guards swears violently. "Another fucking month on dry rations."

  "But made it?" the other says, looking at me.

  "I guess," my escort said. "Walked in the fucking front door, if you can believe, along with a Second-damned captain."

  "Man or woman captain?" the other mine guard says.

  "Woman."

  "Good looking?"

  My escort makes a so-so gesture. The mine guard sighs, and her companion chuffs her in the ribs.

  "Like you'd have a shot with an officer," he says.

  "Sennot's fucking that lieutenant from the commissary," she says.

  "Sennot doesn't look like a frog."

  My escort clears his throat and gives me a little shove, forcing me off the platform and into the tunnel.

  "Delivered," he says. "Put it in the log book."

  "Need your signature, then," the woman -- who does have a bit of a batrachian look -- says.

  "Forge it." He slams his fist on the button and the lift starts upward, pushing the loading ramp out of the way. Before long it's disappeared, and there's only the end of the tunnel leading out into utter darkness, a worm-hole in the world.

  "Motherfucker," the woman says, without real rancor. She looks at me. "You got a name?"

  "Kal," I say. There doesn't seem to be a point in pretending to be someone else.

  "Kal." She looks at her companion. "Margie's shift still down two?"

  "Yeah. I'll take him over, you do the log?"

  She nods. The second guard takes my arms and leads me deeper into the tunnel.

  It strikes me as we walk that this seems like a pretty relaxed for a supposedly high-security prison. But I guess it doesn't matter, since the lift itself (and the endless drop beyond) provide the ultimate escape-proof barrier. You might be able to get aboard the lift during a shift change, but then what? The grinding ascent would leave plenty of time for an alarm, and the guards at the top would be waiting. The mine is effectively in its own little world, with only one fragile connection to the outside.

  It's a world, though, at least compared to what I'd imagined. The main shaft divides into smaller branches wide enough for a cart, and these subdivide into yet smaller passages. The network seems to go on forever. If I'm remembering correctly, prisoners have been digging down here since the beginning of Earth-as-in-Heaven's reign several centuries ago, so I guess they've had plenty of time to expand. My escort and I pass other guards and the occasional prisoner, pale-skinned and bedraggled. In some spots the tunnels expand into rooms, full of stacked supplies or broken-up spoil. Eventually we come to a doorway hung with a ragged curtain, and the guard takes out his baton and raps it loudly on the wall.

  "New arrival!" he shouts, and shoves me forward. I get the curtain in my face, struggle for a moment, then emerge into much dimmer light that leaves me blinking.

  The first thing I can make out is the blade of a knife a couple of inches from my eye.