2.

It took Spock over half an hour to find his way back from the wood-floored corridor to the room where he was to sleep. Despite the fact that there were still people around he gained help from no one, and was forced to concentrate intently on the scents and sounds and feelings of his surroundings to recognise the antechamber where he had been blinded. Once there, he hesitated, trying to orient himself and remember where the doorway was to the room that contained his sleeping mat. He could not even be absolutely certain if he had found his way to the right chamber. He didn't know how many rooms of this type there were in the building.

Spock had been standing in the antechamber for just over a minute when someone entered the room, muttering, 'Been sent to see you go in. You took your time, didn't you?'

Spock straightened his spine, raising an eyebrow in mild chagrin. Perhaps if the man had helped him find his way it would not have taken so long.

'There, in front of you,' the man said impatiently, pushing him forward. 'I'm not standing here another half hour while you turn about yourself in circles.'

Spock stepped through the doorway, touching a hand to the doorframe to orient himself, feeling the tingle of a forcefield that he presumed was one way touching his skin as he moved through. He realised as he entered that the room was no longer empty – he could smell the scents and feel the presence of more than one person. There was a general stir and an air of curiosity as he entered, and he heard people getting to their feet.

'You're the new chamber slave?' a man asked, coming over to him. There was a moment of scrutiny. 'Well, at least they left you intact,' he said, lifting his kilt casually to look underneath.

Spock stepped backwards instantly, snatching his clothing away from the man's hand.

'Hey, don't be so coy,' he said. 'You're a slave. You're not permitted modesty.'

Spock raised an eyebrow mutely. It was supremely frustrating not being able to talk.

'Come on. Let's have a proper look at you,' he said, moving closer again. 'It's not often we get a new one in here – specially not a Vulcan.'

Spock stepped backwards again. He could feel the others in the room gathering about him, all piqued with curiosity. He was beginning to understand his position here – he was not only beneath all of the free people in the household, but as a new slave he would also be at the bottom of the pile as far as his peers were concerned – unless he acted now.

The man's hands took hold of his tunic and forearm, as if to begin stripping his tunic off. In an instant Spock grabbed hold of the man's wrists, holding them perfectly immobile as he tried to release himself, proving that he was strong enough to be a formidable challenge. He pushed downwards, forcing the man irrevocably to his knees. He held him like that for a few moments, then let go, and turned to go to the corner where his bed lay, pushing past the others in the room as if they were not there.

There was a long moment of silence as he sat. He could feel that the atmosphere in the room had changed to one of silent awe. Then someone came and sat near him. He could tell it was the same man who had tried to remove his clothes. It was surprisingly easy to distinguish even people he had only known for a few minutes by their scent and way of moving, and the mental emanations that hung about them like a cloud. There was no problem in dropping his shields here – he had sensed no one of any telepathic ability, and the amount he gained from the awareness of people's personalities and moods was priceless.

'So,' the man said. 'You're strong. Anything else we should know about you?'

Spock turned his head towards him. Now that the initial test was over there seemed to be nothing left in the man's intentions but curiosity and a desire for friendship. He touched a hand to his mouth, and shook his head.

'Yeah, I know you're mute,' the man said. 'You're a slave to the bedchamber – they all are.'

Spock raised an eyebrow. He pointed to himself, then tried to indicate the desire to ask a question, miming counting on his fingers. There was moment of puzzlement, then the man said, 'How many bedchamber slaves are there?'

Spock nodded.

'I don't know – four or five. You'll be the highest though, being slave to the high Master. They only put one in each seven – don't want too many blind fumbling about in one room, do you?' he said with a laugh.

Spock dropped his head minutely.

'All right, sorry. I guess it's not been long enough for you to be used to it yet.'

He shook his head, raising one finger to indicate one day.

'You'll find it hard – but you'll adapt,' the man said reassuringly. 'I've not seen one here yet that hasn't. We can help you in here, in this room – but you won't get help outside. It's not allowed unless you really need it.'

Spock nodded in acknowledgement. He touched his fingers to the sleek metal band about his left wrist. It was perfectly smooth, with no apparent join now it had been fixed about his arm.

'That's your identity cuff,' the man said. 'It's got a chip in it that says what you are and who you belong to. Master had a couple of escape attempts a few years back so he slapped these on all of us. It'll set off all manner of alarms if you go where you're not meant to go or try to leave the perimeter. Got a powerful charge in it too if they need to knock you out.'

Spock nodded, touching the band again. It was far too small to even consider trying to slip his hand out through it. He wondered what would happen if he attempted to sever it with something, but in his condition he could not even be sure what material it was made of.

'Oh, it links in with the door too,' the man continued. 'You can come in through the forcefield anytime, but you can only go out at letting out times, or if someone outside puts the code in.'

Spock nodded, then sighed in frustration. There were so many questions he wanted to resolve, and it was impossible to ask without the power of speech.

'Want to talk?' the man asked sympathetically, and he nodded. 'Well, what might you want to know?' he mused. 'I'm Lamesh – I'm a general outdoor labourer here, so I guess you'll be spending some time alongside me. They usually put the blind ones to physical work for part of the day. There's five more of us in here – Robash, Delash, Salensh, Andresh and Valensh.'

Spock nodded as there was a general movement in the room, the five other men coming up to him and speaking their names and touching his hand lightly in a form of handshake. He focused on each one as they spoke, committing the bundle of sensory impressions to his mind to help him recognise each one in future.

'Each group of slaves is a seven, and we're the second seven,' Lamesh continued. 'Below Lord Milaresh, we answer to Master Robbesh. He's – generally fair – but he's a hard one. If you need punishing, he won't stint, and he tends to be hard on weakness, so you're not coming from the best place, being blind and mute. It's Lord Milaresh you want to watch – that's our owner, the one whose bedchamber you're assigned to. He – is *not* fair – and his punishments can be vicious.'

'Yeah, I was on the end of one of those last week,' a rough voice put in in an aggrieved tone. Salensh, Spock thought, from the distinctive timbre of the voice.

He lifted his head, trying to work out how to ask what the punishments involved, but he could not think of a way. Perhaps it was best not to know in advance.

'Now, let me think,' Lamesh muttered. 'You'll want to know your duties… We're not *too* badly treated, considering, but you'll have to work hard. The bell wakes you at dawn. We eat out in the common room out there – it's a filling meal, but it's not good. Then you'll probably have to work for five, six hours. I guess since you're a chamber attendant you'll be let off then, and you'll probably have dinner early with the rest of the chamber slaves. Of course, you attend your master at all meals but breakfast, whether he eats in public or in his room. Then – you work in your master's or mistress's chamber, and I couldn't tell you what you do, because all chamber slaves are mute, so they can't talk about what goes on, and blind so as they don't see what goes on. All I can say is, it's a shame for you you're not slave to a lady, because then you'd be getting something we all miss out on. But anyway, when you're not working you're locked in this room, and you have to entertain yourself as you see fit.'

Spock touched a hand to his eyes, trying to indicate another question.

'Yes, so you can't see their little indulgences,' the man said.

Spock shook his head, touching his eyes again, and then his throat, and then moving his hand sideways to try to indicate a passage of time.

'I don't understand,' the man, sounding almost as frustrated as Spock felt. 'Hey, Delash,' he said, his voice turning away. 'You've got good at this game. Do you get it?'

'Er,' another voice said, moving closer. 'Show me,' he said, and Spock repeated the gesture, trying to keep the frustration out of his movements. 'Um – distance? Time?'

Spock nodded his head swiftly.

'Time?'

He nodded again.

'Time, and your eyes… How long does it last? It's permanent. It doesn't wear off.'

Spock dropped his head. That information had gone without saying to him. It wasn't what he had wanted to ask. He tried another gesture, pointing backwards over his shoulder.

'Back? Backwards? Reverse?' Delash asked suddenly. 'Can it be reversed – cured?'

Spock nodded.

'I don't know. They don't tend to pull people out of bed-chamber service. Too many things they could tell, if they could speak.'

Spock mimed writing, and the man laughed.

'Well, you could write, if they gave us such luxuries as pen and paper. But I'm guessing universal translators don't work on script, so you'd be penning gibberish to us. Anyway, it's not likely they'll let you have paper to record all of our lord's little intimacies.'

Spock pressed his lips together, leaning back against the wall.

'I suppose you're tired,' Lamesh said from beside him.

Spock nodded. He was oppressed by his situation, but he also felt physically exhausted from lack of food and from being held, drugged, in that metal drawer for a week.

'Well, just remember when you sleep – you don't sleep in your day clothes – you'll be punished. You have to take them off and fold them and put them in your slot up on the wall.'

Spock raised an eyebrow. He touched the collar of his top and mimed sleeping, hoping he would be understood.

'No, you don't have night clothes,' Delash told him. 'No need. It's warm enough in here, isn't it?'

Spock cocked his head to the side, then shrugged. It wasn't *cold* in the room, but it was colder than was suited to his Vulcan temperature.

'I suppose you like it warmer,' Lamesh said, touching a hand to Spock's arm to feel his temperature. 'I've heard your planet's like a forge. Well, if you get chilly you can always bunk up with one of us.'

Spock pressed his lips together. The people in the room seemed friendly enough, but he had little desire to test that friendship by lying in contact with their flesh all night, subject to all of the unshielded emotions and thoughts he would sense through the touch. His exhaustion from the journey would help him sleep.

******

He was woken by the red alert siren, and he was half way across the room reaching out for his clothes before he remembered that he was not on the ship and he couldn't see and he couldn't speak. The word *Captain* was forming in his throat as he stopped dead in the middle of the room, trying to control his instinctive reaction to the sound coupled with the odd dreams he had been experiencing.

'Hey,' someone said, and he spun towards the voice. 'Hey, it's just the wake-up alarm,' the man said, moving towards him.

Spock took in a deep breath, composing his face back to neutrality.

'It's Salensh,' the man said, forestalling the question he wanted to ask. 'Come on. You need to get washed and dressed. We don't have a lot of time before breakfast.'

Spock nodded reluctantly. He felt like he needed more time to reconcile himself to how his life had changed – specifically, to the fact that he could not see – but obviously that was a luxury he was not allowed.

'Del, you help him,' Salensh said over Spock's shoulder. 'You can understand him.'

Delash came across the room and touched Spock's arm. 'Come on,' he said, nudging him across the room. 'I should have shown you this last night,' he said apologetically. 'I didn't think. This is our glorious bathroom,' he said with gentle sarcasm.

Spock raised an eyebrow, reaching out ahead of himself to feel the doorframe as they went through it. As far as he could tell, it was just an open doorway, with no door to give privacy from the other room.

'There's a hand-basin here,' he said, taking Spock's hand and moving it to what felt like a metal basin with one stubby tap. 'There's a shelf just up here with a shaver for your beard,' he said, moving Spock's hand again. 'Master'll want you cleanly shaven. And there's a toilet just here on your left,' he said, turning Spock around. He accepted the manhandling as a necessary unpleasantness. 'Paper in the dispenser here, and the flush is just there on the wall,' he said, guiding Spock's hand first to a metal dispenser and then to a small button. Spock raised an eyebrow in surprise. He had been almost expecting a hole in a plank.

'Then this is the shower,' Delash said, leading Spock toward the back of the tiny room. 'Everything gets a bit wet of a morning, but it soon dries. We've got a towel here,' he said, moving Spock's hand to a rough cloth hanging on the wall. 'It's best to put it on the toilet when you shower or it'll get wet. Course, it gets wet enough anyway with seven of us using it,' he said, sounding as if he was smiling.

Spock nodded, turning as if to leave the room.

'Come on, step in,' Delash said firmly. 'You have to shower every morning – and *you'll* have to shower again before your chamber duty. You'll be lashed if you're not clean. We have to take it in pairs in the morning – and one three of course. There's no time for anything else.'

Spock pressed his lips together. Living in such close confines with six other men was one thing, but he had little desire to share a shower with them.

'Come on,' Delash told him again, thrusting a cloth into his hands. 'The button's here on the wall. It's just on and off. There's no temperature settings.'

Spock gasped as suddenly he was drenched in water that was far too cold for his liking. There was something deeply unpleasant about standing blind in a spray of water that deafened all other sound from his ears. But he had to give in to the logic of the situation. He had to wash, and it did not matter that he couldn't hear – there was nothing here to harm him. He washed swiftly, rubbing the cloth over his body, then took the towel that Delash gallantly offered him first, trying to rub warmth back into his limbs.

'Come on – clothes,' Delash said, leading him back into the main room as the shower sprung into life again for two more occupants. 'I know I should let you do it, but there isn't time. Here,' he said, thrusting Spock's clothes into his hands. 'That's your field-work clothes,' he said as Spock noticed the roughness of the fabric. 'The other ones are for chamber duty – you have to keep them clean.'

Within a few minutes Spock found himself wearing some kind of knee length, short-sleeved smock and following Delash down a long corridor. They turned into a room that sounded like a moderately large canteen. He tried to ignore the low murmur of voices and clattering of dishes and followed Delash's footsteps, keeping his hands carefully at his sides.

'Here,' Delash said, stopping at the end of the room. 'Bowls and spoons are here. You fill your bowl up – it takes two ladles – from the vat here, fill up your cup with water, then come and sit down. Careful, though – the vat's hot.'

Spock reached out in front of himself, finding the stack of metal bowls and then the vat with Delash's verbal assistance and carefully scooping two ladles full into his bowl, then filling his metal cup from a small tap, and following him to a clear space at the table.

'We all sit in our sevens,' Delash explained as they sat. 'There are six tables, and ours is the second.'

Spock nodded, aware of the rest of the seven joining them as he dipped his spoon into his bowl.

'Don't spill it,' Salensh said quickly from his left. 'Don't get your clothes dirty, don't get the table dirty. The overseer's watching you for mistakes – and he's the type who wants you to make one just so he can lord his power over you. He likes to pick on the blind ones.'

Spock lifted his head briefly, wondering where, and who, the overseer was. He didn't have to wonder long, though, because someone sauntered over and said, 'Ah, your first meal without your eyes. This should be interesting.'

Spock pressed his lips together, recognising the voice of the overbearing servant Menash who had overseen his work in the washing room last night. The man seemed to take a sadistic pleasure in waiting for some act of clumsiness and then cuffing him about the head with the side of his hand. He had little intention of provoking such behaviour this morning.

He took a spoonful of his breakfast, judging the viscosity by stirring it a little. He meticulously wiped the bottom of the spoon on the edge of the bowl and lifted it to his lips with great care. His room-mates had been right – it did seem filling, but it did not taste good at all. It seemed to be a highly starchy porridge that stuck to the inside of his mouth and tasted of nothing definable. At least its viscosity made it harder to spill though, and he gained a small amount of satisfaction from the fact that he gave the overseer no reason to punish him, much to the man's apparent annoyance.

'Just because he's a free servant – and an overseer at that – he thinks he's one step away from a Lord,' Salensh muttered as they returned their bowls to the side of the room. 'He'll take any chance to show his power – specially over those that can't talk back, like you.'

'He's a house-servant, not field, though,' Delash put in. 'So at least *you* won't have to work under him day by day.'

Spock nodded, then touched his hand to Delash's arm, trying to indicate a question.

'Oh, I work under him all right,' Delash said with feeling. 'Every mark on my body's a result of working under him.'

'Sardesh is handy with his crop though,' Lamesh said from behind him. 'Look at this he did yesterday when I was slow to target.'

Spock turned, raising an eyebrow questioningly.

'Oh, a bruise on my thigh,' Lamesh explained. 'He's not as handy with his tongue as Menash, but he's well practised at hitting you just right to make you hurt as much as possible. And speaking of that, if I don't get you outside on time he'll be making both of us hurt. You finished?'

Spock scraped the spoon on the bottom of the bowl, trying to judge how much was left.

'That's it,' Lamesh told him covertly. 'Barely a spoonful.'

Spock nodded, lifting the spoon to his lips. It was logical to make the most of his nourishment, even if it was unpleasant. Then he followed Lamesh to deposit his metal bowl and cup in a box at the side of the room, and then on to outside. He hesitated as they stepped out of the door into the slight breeze of outside. The earthy ground was suddenly uneven and unpredictable under his feet, and he could feel the openness around him. There were no walls and corridors here to help him find his way.

'Yeah, it hits them all like that,' Lamesh told him. 'But you'll get to know it. Listen – you can hear trees over on your left, can't you? And there's a river off to the right, and you can hear work going on in the workshops and barns.'

Spock nodded, tilting his ear towards the different sounds as much to show Lamesh that he appreciated the reassurance as to identify them himself. He could hear far more than Lamesh had mentioned. There was a dull, repetitive thud from a distance away, like some kind of machinery working. There were bird-like sounds chiming all about him, and the occasional sharp clap-clap-clap of something winged taking flight. There were animals, and the murmur of humanoid voices. Apart from the noise of machinery, the place sounded quite rural.

He traced a foot experimentally over the earth, then pointed to the ground and made an up and down movement with his hand to sign the unevenness of it.

'It's not too bad,' Lamesh reassured him. 'I'll tell you if there's anything you need to know about, and you'll get to learn where you can walk. Come on – you need to get on the wagon with me. We're working right over on the other side of the estate in the mines, so they cart us over there.'

Spock paused, turning to him questioningly.

'Argium mines,' Lamesh explained. 'There's mineral deposits there that stop machinery from working – that's why they use us. You won't be digging the stuff out, though – need to see for that. You'll probably be pulling the carts – they run on rails, so all you have to do is pull the full ones out and the empty ones back in again.'

Spock nodded, digesting that information. It seemed that he would be working as little more than a draught horse.

'Come on,' Lamesh told him, touching his arm briefly. 'Keep walking.'

Spock began to follow the sound of Lamesh walking again, but bare feet on dry earth were much harder to hear than on stone or floorboards. It was like trying to follow someone on the carpeted floors of the upper house, but without the reassurance of walls either side to guide him.

'So, this is the new one,' a man's voice said as they approached a group of people. 'You'll have to pick up your pace, boy. Come on, get on the cart.'

Spock flinched more in surprise than in pain as a crop hit the back of his arm.

'Sardesh,' Lamesh muttered in his ear. 'Told you he was handy with that.'

Spock moved forward, surrounded by emotional impressions – anger from Lamesh, impatience from Sardesh the overseer, and curiosity from everyone else. His shins touched a low obstacle in front of him, and he bent to feel a dusty metal surface.

'That's it,' Lamesh murmured from beside him. 'Get up and follow me to the front so you can hold on. It's a bumpy ride.'

'So, has this one got a name?' Sardesh asked, prodding Spock with his stick to make him move forward more quickly.

'Not yet, sir,' Lamesh said as Spock climbed aboard. 'We're waiting on that.'

'Vulcan. He'll be strong then, at least, and quick to learn. Go on, boy,' he said, snapping the switch across the back of Spock's legs again. 'Move forward – make some room.'

Spock soon found himself pressed against the front of the cart by a jostling crowd of other men, with Lamesh close beside him.

'Take hold of the rail,' Lamesh told him, taking his hand quickly and putting it to a metal rail at chest height. 'Just keep hold while we're moving and you'll be fine.'

As he grasped at the rail with both hands the platform he was on lurched suddenly and began to move. He presumed they were moving forward at a reasonable pace – but without sight it was curiously hard to judge how fast or in which direction. His attention was soon taken up by the others on the cart, however, as curious bodies crowded around him.

'So, this is Master's new fuck-slave,' one of them said, pulling at Spock's sleeve.

'Great, another cripple to watch for,' another one complained.

'Do you bend over nicely when you're asked?' the first one jibed. 'Do you enjoy it when he slips it in?'

Spock pressed his lips together, trying to ignore the taunting. The fact of their jeering did not bother him so much – it was the implications of what they were saying that disturbed him. His position was already unpleasant enough, but the threat of being used as some kind of sexual slave by the disagreeable man who held him here was something that filled him with cold dread.

'Hey, lads, leave him alone,' Lamesh protested. 'Come on, have some pity – he's only been crippled a day. That could be any one of you if the master took a fancy to you.'

There was a moment of silence. Spock could feel that suggestion rippling through their minds, but he knew that such taunting often stemmed from fear of suffering what the object of the ridicule was suffering. The general emotions in the air became a little less threatening, but a few simply became more intense. Then someone put their hand on his back, pulling at his clothes again. Spock tightened his grip on the bar. He couldn't let go while the cart was moving.

'Come on, let's see what we've got,' the man said, hitching his tunic up to his armpits. 'Turn around.'

Spock had no intention of turning, but hands grabbed at his and uncurled his fingers, forcing him to rotate to face the others. Suddenly the hands were all over him, poking at him, feeling his muscles, slipping between his legs.

'Hey, stop it, leave off him!' Lamesh snapped. 'No, don't,' he said quickly in a different tone, as Spock raised his hands against their grip to defend himself. 'You get caught fighting and you'll be whipped half unconscious. It's not worth it.'

Spock paused a moment, then forcefully removed the hands from his arms, holding them just tightly enough for a moment to show his strength. There was a curse from one of the men, and suddenly there was a little more space around him, and his smock had fallen back to cover his body. He staggered as the cart went over another bump, but hands that he decided must be Lamesh's grabbed hold of him and steadied him as he turned back to the rail.

'Best you just keep a low profile,' Lamesh murmured in his ear. 'You stick out, and they'll pick on any thing they get.'

When the cart finally stopped Spock found himself surrounded by a confusion of people and thumping noise. Lamesh waited just long enough to see him off the cart and to murmur an apology to him before disappearing to his own enforced duties. Spock stood stock still on the uneven ground, waiting for some kind of direction, being jostled by the movement of men either side of him. He got the sense of being in a narrow area, perhaps outside but fenced, because although there were no echoes and plenty of fresh air the men around him were obviously corralled into a small space. The scents of dust and sweat were thick in the air. Somewhere ahead of him was a tangled noise of pounding and grinding, metal on metal and metal grating on stone, and low rumblings like some kind of engines constantly working.

'All right, boy, over here,' came the voice of Sardesh, and a rough hand grabbed at his upper arm. It was the first time anyone in charge here had come close to guiding him, but he thought it would have been preferable to be left to manage alone as the man pulled him swiftly across ground strewn with rocks and potholes. He ignored the stubbed toes and knocked ankles, trying to concentrate instead on the feel of his surroundings as the breeze became more muted and the sounds about him seemed contained by solid walls. The pulsing and banging and roaring sound increased to a level where it began to drown out individual voices, despite the fact that most were shouting.

'Here,' Sardesh shouted roughly, pushing him over what felt like a metal rail embedded in the ground. Spock stood still as hands buckled what seemed to be a circular harness about his chest, and then he heard rattling chains being fixed to the sides of the harness and to something else behind him. This was the first indisputable sign of his bondage, and he couldn't say that he liked it.

'Right,' Sardesh shouted, so close to his ear his could feel his hot breath and the occasional touch of a beard. 'You turn around and push the wagon into the mine all the way to the buffers. You wait there for the order to move, and then you turn back and pull it out to the end here. You wait for the load to be emptied, then you turn round again and repeat. You keep doing that until you're told to stop. You don't decide to have a sit-down half way through, or stop to socialise, or pull it out before it's fully loaded. If you do, you get *this*,' he said, bringing his crop down sharply across Spock's back. Spock's back muscles tensed, but he kept any expression of pain from his face. 'Don't even think of disobeying, or refusing to work, or I'll beat you so hard you won't know if you're alive or dead, and then set you back in harness. Now, if you need a piss you piss as you walk. Anything else you hold onto until you're unlocked at the end of shift. Do you understand?'

Spock nodded silently. There was little to understand.

'All right, go on, then. If you're slow to target I'll have to beat speed into you.'

Spock pressed his lips together, turning round in the cumbersome harness and reaching out for the wagon before him. He felt even more blind with the confusion of sound in his ears. He found the end of it after a moment – it was a metal panel that rose up to his chest height, with a turned over edge that was split and damaged with use. The wagon only took a light push to send it rumbling forward along the rails, and he felt wooden sleepers under his feet as he followed it, holding onto the edge with his hands, letting the rails guide him. The place smelt as if not everyone waited until the end of shift to relieve themselves, and the scent of stale urine was overpowering. As the track became steeper his task grew in difficulty, as he had to struggle to stop the cart from running away from him and dragging him along the rails behind it.

Then finally, where the noise was at its most intense, he suddenly found his downward progress impeded by something solid, and he stopped, grateful at the chance to rest despite the cacophonous noise that blurred everything else out from his ears.

A hand hit at his arm, and he started, turning towards the noise of someone speaking. He caught the words, '…you all right?' and he nodded, recognising Lamesh's voice. He touched a hand to his ear, trying to show an expression of distaste on his usually expressionless face.

'Yeah, helps if you can see people's lips down here,' Lamesh shouted into his ear. 'Listen. I can't stop and talk. Just need to tell you, when the cart's full the last person'll tap you on the shoulder. Then you pull it out. Don't take it til then. Okay?'

Spock nodded silently.

'I know, it's not good down here. Just stick to doing what you're told, and try not to breathe in the dust. Day'll be over before you know it.'