The limp form was bundled in stained blankets and hauled tenderly away. One of the two rescuers straightened before Rees; white eyes shone out of a soot-smeared face. It took him a few seconds to recognize Sheen, his shift supervisor. The pull of her hot, blackened body was a distant tugging at his belly, and he was ashamed to find, even at a moment like this, his eyes tracking sweat droplets over her blood-smeared chest. "You're late," she said, her voice smoke-deep as a man's.

"I'm sorry. What's happened?"

"An implosion. What do you think?" Pushing scorched hair from her brow she turned and pointed into the stationary pall of smoke. Now Rees could make out the shape of the foundry within; its cubical form had buckled, as if crushed by a giant hand. "Two dead so far," Sheen said. "Damn it. That's the third collapse in the last hundred shifts. If only Gord built strong enough for this damn stupid universe, I wouldn't have to scrape my workmates off each other like so much spoiled meat-sim. Damn, damn."

"What shall I do?"

She turned and looked at him with annoyance; he felt a flush of embarrassment and fear climb in his cheeks. Her irritation seemed to soften a little. "Help us haul the rest out. Stick close to me and you'll be fine. Try to breathe through your nose, OK?"

And she turned and dived back into the spreading smoke. Rees hesitated for a single second, then hurried after her.

The bodies were cleared and allowed to drift away into the Nebula air, while the injured were collected by their families and gently bundled to waiting cabins. The fire in the foundry was doused and soon the smoke was dispersing. Gord, the Belt's chief engineer, crawled over the ruins. The engineer was a short, blond man; he shook his head miserably as he began the work of planning the rebuilding of the foundry. Rees saw how the relatives of the dead and injured regarded Gord with hatred as he went about his work. Surely the series of implosions could not be blamed on the engineer?