The Corridor soon became choked with the rubble and dirt that came from tunneling through the thick mountainside. I covered my nose and mouth with my construction uniform, eyes watering. Even with the help of the Tunnelers (hand-held drill-like machines), it was hard going.

Dadaelee, one of the other builders, shot a furtive glance at me. She was a new Builder like me, slight of build, but tough in every other sense. “Dali! How’s it going over there?”

“Dark. Musty. Choking. Et cetera,” I called back.

A Tunnel Guard stepped between us. “No conversation,” he said in a tinny voice.

“Not like there’s much to talk about anyway,” I muttered.

The Guard whacked me over the head with the butt of his baton. I could sadly do no more than shoot a nasty look at him, but Dadaelee managed to flip a certain hand gesture at his back.

These type of events were the only ones we could hang on to in this terrible place. Even the smallest relief was a comfort.

There was no doubt. This was a prison.