There was one Oompa-Loompa who did not return to the sleeping area but instead headed into the upper mine, trying to find a place where the device embedded in his cerebrum would be able to transmit. He could not keep himself from grinning…at last he had the chance he had been waiting for! Reaching a small communications shack at the bottom of the central pit, he sauntered casually up to the steps. "Where the hell do you think you're going, little man?!" the guard outside said, aggressively whipping his baton out of its holster.
Mugabe stopped and smirked at him. "Check my prison numbah, mon."
The guard's eyes narrowed. "You're him?"
"De one an' only." The guard stepped aside, allowing Mugabe into the communications building. At a thought, interfaces flared to life in Mugabe's vision, a heads-up-display which was projected directly onto his retinas. He grinned…it reminded him of a video game. All dot's missin' is a big-oss gun and a little ting to show me where it's pointin'. He shook off the thought. The same conduit that carried the phone line also carried an internet connection and radio signal, none of which would otherwise be available underground...now tapped into the local network, he could transmit directly to his overseers back in England. At a slight flick of his eyes, a keyboard made of blue light appeared in the air, visible only to Mugabe himself. To any observer, he would have looked quite insane as his fingers danced in the air, arbitrarily coming down to poke at different bits of nothingness. In the name of efficiency, Mugabe's message was exceedingly brief: RVLT BRIGTN MINE BRZVL: 3 DAYS. His eyes flicked to the square on his vision labeled "Send," the former drug dealer still wondering at the fact that he essentially had a computer and modem installed in his head…a spinning icon appeared to let him know that the device was working, and then the words appeared on his vision "Transmission Complete." Within twenty seconds, a reply was received: WELL DONE. INFIL RESIST ALL COST. He had already known what the message would be, but now it was official…and the real work began. Mugabe felt nothing but elation as he left the building and headed back down to join his fellows; as he reached the sleeping area, another of the slaves who had been at the meeting sat up suddenly.
"Where were you?"
Mugabe shrugged. "Call o' nature, mon. You wan' me to do it in heah or out deah?" The other seemed satisfied with this answer and allowed Mugabe to pass, the drug dealer taking a deep whiff of the scent of sweaty, unwashed bodies pressed close together. Tonight at least, he thoroughly enjoyed the repulsive smell…it represented everything he was going to leave behind. Soon he would be free and a member of the Resistance…then all that would be left was locating Bucket. Indeed, most of his work was still ahead of him, but it all seemed much more tolerable now that he had at last taken the vital first step. He had a way in with the enemy.
Besides the uniforms, two other things had emerged from beneath the jumpsuit of the Resistance fighter named Virgil: a tiny relay device, and an even smaller transmitter. On his way up to his assigned work site the next day, Virgil himself made a detour: the same communications building where Mugabe had contacted his superiors the night before. A miniscule light on the relay turned green, letting the Resistance member know that the device had successfully tapped into the enemy's communications systems and established a clear line to the surface. As soon as it lit up, he found a safe spot to conceal his tiny piece of equipment, somewhere it would not be noticed for the next seventy-two hours. His work done, Virgil continued on to a day of hard labor. Every swing of his pick was degradation, every emaciated and dying slave he passed an outrage, but he worked hard and did not give the guards any reason to strike him. He only had to last three days…and then the tables would be turned.