"Shut up, fool!" There was a sound as of fist meeting flesh, the shriek was stilled. "Plenty of water—tanks full of the stuff." A grizzled miner turned to the self-appointed boss and twitched his head—toward the laboring pump. "Too damn much water too soon, huh?"
"I wouldn't wonder—but get busy!"
As his now orderly and purposeful men disappeared, Jones picked up his microphone and changed the setting of a dial.
"On top, somebody," he said crisply. "On top...."
"Oh, there's somebody alive down in Twelve, after all!" a girl's voice screamed in his ear. "Mr. Clancy! Mr. Edwards!"
"To hell with Clancy, and Edwards, too," Jones barked. "Gimme the Chief Engineer and the Head Surveyor, and gimme 'em fast."
"Clancy speaking, Station Twelve." If Works Manager Clancy had heard that pointed remark, and he must have, he ignored it. "Stanley and Emerson will be here in a moment. In the meantime, who's calling? I don't recognize your voice, and it's been so long...."
"Jones. Shift-boss, Stope Fifty Nine. I had a little trouble getting here to the Station."
"What? Where's Pennoyer? And Riley? And...?"
"Dead. Everybody. Gas or damp. No warning."