Struggle. Prisoners of Darkness - стр. 4
"Gora," Konstantin called out to his commander.
The one in turn "woke up" for the third time that day, "What?" "Raphael. He decided to come out today."
"Where is he?"
The deputy pointed somewhere in the middle of the hall, where it was impossible to see anything behind the backs and faces, as well as, of course, the methane dust that littered every corner of the mine.
After a ten-minute search, the young boy Raphael (number 97899213B2; category "B2" – "gray" worker) was found. "Are you doing that on purpose?"
Five days ago, methane exploded and the 381st Soma lost three dead and one wounded. That wounded man was Raphael: second-degree burns on half his arm. Gora had given him a "leave of absence" (those who didn't work, the plagues didn't follow, as long as the plan was fulfilled).
"I'm already healthy," the boy replied, continuing to scrub the ground of embers without raising his head. The bubble from the burn burst, then another burst: clear liquid flowed into the water. Raphael shuddered, then his hand shook, but he kept his head still.
"Stop it. That's an order," Gabriel commanded.
Raphael stopped and raised his head. The gray, impenetrable eyes expressed calmness and restraint. A high forehead and strikingly white skin. It seemed white, despite the obvious charcoal grime that covered it almost everywhere; and even gave off a bluish color. Gabriel saw him as a descendant of the Aryans, who were considered a remarkably advanced and harmonious civilization.
"I can't not work. You understand that," the boy replied and fixed his commander in the eyes with his heavy glassy gaze. The only person capable of "translating" that gaze was Gora. He often observed his most poised subordinate and always saw sadness first. His eyes often looked not at the chums, but at the men at work; they poured blood from the fact that all the hardships the men went through were of no avail. The eyes watched and suffered the slavery of others. And now Gabriel saw those eyes; they wanted, by all means, to end the suffering of the people, including by means of their own sacrifice – for this Hora loved his son very much, but it was beyond him to watch such altruism.
"Raphael, listen to my command. – The commander switched to a completely businesslike tone. – Go to Sector 1 (something like a "human house" a place of rest after work; also in the mine, the plague surface was taken out twice a month for about half an hour) and sleep. Don't come out of there for a week. That's an order."
The Son of the Mountain turned his eyes away and looked at the woman in her fifties washing coal two meters away from him, her eyes bloodshot and another blister bursting on her arm.