murderer of coal miners, was undetectable. As a final check, he licked his fingers and held them up within an inch of the stone roof. When they quickly cooled, he knew the air was moving along according to his plan. Satisfied, he turned to leave.
âKeep them safe, Bossman.â
âIâll
do my best, Cable,â Bossman said, his grin wet from his chaw. He added, âIâm awful sorry I started the gossip about your wife.â
Cable gripped his mine foremanâs shoulder. âForget it,â he said. âWhen you get to know her, youâll see sheâs a great girl.â
âSheâs a good lookinâ one, thatâs for sure,â Bossman said.
Cable nodded agreement, then walked away, bent beneath the roof, until he reached a small battery-powered car called a jeep. He energized the low-slung boxy vehicle and aimed it along the track toward the main line. Wooden support headers passed overhead and the rails clicked below. It was two and a half miles back to the manlift and then a short walk to his office where a mound of paperwork, including the latest MSHA inspection results, awaited him.
Em-Sha, as everyone in the industry called the federal Mine Safety and Health Administration, was all-powerful. It could shut down a mine or levy a stiff fine for a thousand and one different violations, big and small. Although many mine superintendents and owners resented the agency, Cable wasnât among them, even when he thought they were a little heavy-handed. Paying a fine was a way to keep everybody on their toes. Being shut down, however, was another matter. As competitive as it had become in the past year, closing even for a day could prove disastrous, especially since the Highcoal mine was already having difficulty meeting its orders.
There was a new steel mill in India that desperately needed an extremely pure metallurgical coal. Atlas headquarters had first signed a long-term contract to supply this coal, and then installed new equipment in the Highcoal processing plant to provide it. But, to date, the Highcoal mine had failed to meet the demand as specified in the contract. Cable could not figure out why. All the sections were nearly at peak production, and the seam they worked contained what was reputedly the finest metallurgical coal in the world. But when all the raw tonnage was separated into its different grades, he kept coming up short. He feared that the quality of the coal in the mine was decreasing, that they had already dug out most of the good stuff a long time ago. If so, the Indian steel mill would go elsewhere with their orders and Highcoal might be in danger of laying off miners, or even shutting down.
Cableâs mind revolved around this concern for a while, but he was distracted by thoughts of Song, which didnât cheer him up. It wasnât just the gossip about her that worried him. After seeing so little of Highcoal, she wasnât happy, which was more than a little distressing. Highcoal was a beautiful town and the people were purely wonderful, not counting their propensity toward gossip. They gossiped in New York City too, right? He pondered what might make her happy and came up with not much, except he guessed he should spend more time with her while she was visiting. But when would that be, with all this bad coal being run?
Cable kept worrying about Song as the tracks clicked below the jeep. When no answer came, he went back to worrying over his mine. Both problems seemed to have unknowns he couldnât quite put his finger on. With his wife, she seemed to have a strange lens through which she observed Highcoal. With the mine, it simply made no sense that he couldnât meet the orders sent down from headquarters. The overall tonnage was good, but the special high-grade tonnage stayed low. Why? And was it a permanent situation? Was there really that much rock mixed in with the coal? Visually it seemed fine, but when it emerged from the
âKeep them safe, Bossman.â
âIâll
do my best, Cable,â Bossman said, his grin wet from his chaw. He added, âIâm awful sorry I started the gossip about your wife.â
Cable gripped his mine foremanâs shoulder. âForget it,â he said. âWhen you get to know her, youâll see sheâs a great girl.â
âSheâs a good lookinâ one, thatâs for sure,â Bossman said.
Cable nodded agreement, then walked away, bent beneath the roof, until he reached a small battery-powered car called a jeep. He energized the low-slung boxy vehicle and aimed it along the track toward the main line. Wooden support headers passed overhead and the rails clicked below. It was two and a half miles back to the manlift and then a short walk to his office where a mound of paperwork, including the latest MSHA inspection results, awaited him.
Em-Sha, as everyone in the industry called the federal Mine Safety and Health Administration, was all-powerful. It could shut down a mine or levy a stiff fine for a thousand and one different violations, big and small. Although many mine superintendents and owners resented the agency, Cable wasnât among them, even when he thought they were a little heavy-handed. Paying a fine was a way to keep everybody on their toes. Being shut down, however, was another matter. As competitive as it had become in the past year, closing even for a day could prove disastrous, especially since the Highcoal mine was already having difficulty meeting its orders.
There was a new steel mill in India that desperately needed an extremely pure metallurgical coal. Atlas headquarters had first signed a long-term contract to supply this coal, and then installed new equipment in the Highcoal processing plant to provide it. But, to date, the Highcoal mine had failed to meet the demand as specified in the contract. Cable could not figure out why. All the sections were nearly at peak production, and the seam they worked contained what was reputedly the finest metallurgical coal in the world. But when all the raw tonnage was separated into its different grades, he kept coming up short. He feared that the quality of the coal in the mine was decreasing, that they had already dug out most of the good stuff a long time ago. If so, the Indian steel mill would go elsewhere with their orders and Highcoal might be in danger of laying off miners, or even shutting down.
Cableâs mind revolved around this concern for a while, but he was distracted by thoughts of Song, which didnât cheer him up. It wasnât just the gossip about her that worried him. After seeing so little of Highcoal, she wasnât happy, which was more than a little distressing. Highcoal was a beautiful town and the people were purely wonderful, not counting their propensity toward gossip. They gossiped in New York City too, right? He pondered what might make her happy and came up with not much, except he guessed he should spend more time with her while she was visiting. But when would that be, with all this bad coal being run?
Cable kept worrying about Song as the tracks clicked below the jeep. When no answer came, he went back to worrying over his mine. Both problems seemed to have unknowns he couldnât quite put his finger on. With his wife, she seemed to have a strange lens through which she observed Highcoal. With the mine, it simply made no sense that he couldnât meet the orders sent down from headquarters. The overall tonnage was good, but the special high-grade tonnage stayed low. Why? And was it a permanent situation? Was there really that much rock mixed in with the coal? Visually it seemed fine, but when it emerged from the
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